


God of Lies

by izazov



Category: Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Additional Tags to Be Added, Angst, M/M, Pre-Thor (2011), Pseudo-Incest, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-19
Updated: 2014-10-11
Packaged: 2018-02-18 01:03:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 58,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2329559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izazov/pseuds/izazov
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are lines no one in Asgard should cross. Not even Asgard's two princes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is by far the most ambitious fic I have ever written. One that is greatly inspired by [this video](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bNz0F8wWTZ8/). It is also terribly self-indulgent and somewhat intent on butchering Norse mythology in later chapters. Despite that, I hope you will enjoy it.

If needed, Loki could not come up with a sufficiently good reason for coming to the training grounds today. Ever since his basic training in weaponry and hand-to-hand combat had ended, Loki rarely visited the training grounds. The reason? There are many, and if asked Loki would offer none, but the main one is currently grinning broadly at his opponent, his blue eyes glinting with the raw, fierce joy of the moment, as they always do in the heat of battle, be it real or a friendly sparring match. He moves with a speed, and even a certain elegance, that should not be possible for someone his size, naked skin of his arms glistening with sweat underneath the midday sun, muscles rippling underneath, strong hands wielding the long, wooden staff seemingly without any effort. Almost as if the weapon is the mere extension of him.

Thor, the golden prince of Asgard. _His brother._

Loki’s brow creases, his lips pressing together, and for a moment, he almost bows to the irrational need to turn around and walk away. Leave the spectacle Thor is creating for a crowd of gathered onlookers behind. But that would be too much like running away, and Loki would hate to give Thor that satisfaction. Even if only Loki would be aware of it.

A hand clasps him by the shoulder, drawing him out of his musings. Loki’s eyes narrow slightly as he turns to see who would dare to presume such familiarity with the prince of Asgard, the scathing words turning to an exasperated sigh when he sees to whom the offending appendage belongs.

“Today is truly one of miracles,” Fandral says, amusement glinting in his eyes. “First Volstagg declines my generous offer of paying for our drinks at a tavern, and now I come here and who do I find? The younger prince of Asgard, finally out of his self-imposed exile.” Fandral ignores the icy look in Loki’s eyes as he pointedly flicks his gaze toward the hand still resting casually on his shoulder. Briefly, Loki toys with the idea of conjuring a serpent around Fandral’s wrist, but he decides against it. It is beneath him, a childish trick, and he does tolerate Fandral more than the rest of Thor’s merry assortment of sycophants. Instead, he offers Fandral his sweetest, most insincere smile. The one that promises a public humiliation in the near future. Fandral, always quick to act when it comes to his wellbeing, pulls his hand, briefly rising both hands in a gesture that universally speaks of surrender. “So what has finally dragged you out of the library?” Fandral asks, his eyes briefly flicking over to Thor, still engaged in combat with his opponent. “Say it is not Thor. I have decent amount of gold waged against Volstagg that not even Thor’s pleading eyes will work on you.”

Loki’s eyes follow Fandral’s gaze just in time to see Thor, his teeth barred in a shark-like grin, dodge a blow and use the momentum to counter-attack. The other man – a member of Einherjar, perhaps, Loki is not certain, his face only vaguely familiar – manages to raise his staff in the last second, the force of Thor’s blow sending him stumbling back, but he manages to stay on his feet. There is a loud cheer from the crowd, and Loki manages to keep his face carefully blank, but he cannot stop the sharp twist of envy in the hollow of his chest, a familiar bitterness rising in his throat.

“Thor is hardly in need of more adoring eyes,” Loki says, and if a trace of bitterness spills over into his words, Fandral does not take notice. Or does not let it show. Tearing his eyes from his brother, Loki rises an enquiring eyebrow at Fandral. “You and Volstagg made a wager over me? I would very much like to hear about it.” Loki says, deceptively soft, leaving the part where he could curse Fandral with impotence only implied.

By the grimace on Fandral’s face, he understands the mistake he has made. “It was not made over you, Loki,” he says, placatingly. Loki merely holds his gaze, his expression blank. Sighing, Fandral caves. “Thor is having difficulties accepting the lack of your presence lately. And he has been very vocal about it. And persistent.” Shrugging, he adds almost apologetically. “We meant no insult either to Thor or you. It was meant in good spirit.”

“So he does need a bigger audience for each of his triumphs.” Ignoring Fandral’s last words, Loki grits out, this time without bothering to mask the bitterness of his voice. Always so greedy, his brother. To miss one solitary pair of eyes when he has entire Asgard regarding him with nothing but worship.

As if guided by a force beyond Loki’s control, his eyes turn their attention toward the ring. Toward _Thor_. The shining, bright flame that is his brother, never more magnificent or awe inspiring than with a weapon in his hand and the lust for battle, for blood, gleaming in his eyes. And Loki, with his tricks and illusions, with his silver lies and love of magic, is but a pale shadow in comparison.

“I think he misses your company, Loki” Fandral says, and Loki’s head snaps in his direction, the words skittering too close to pity for Loki’s taste. But the look in Fandral’s eyes is not that of pity, it is almost fond, if Loki actually believed Fandral capable of any depth of emotion.

“Your gold is safe,” Loki says finally, his voice even. Crossing his arms against his chest, he returns his attention to the fight. The damage is done, he is already here, so why not simply stay and indulge himself in watching Thor fight. For longest of times, it had been only natural to trail after his older brother, a step or two behind, but always there. Very rarely he can even admit it to himself that he misses the simplicity of those days. Before bitterness and envy took root in his heart. “I was taking a stroll, and I heard the cheering. Curiosity is what guided my steps here.”

Even if he should have known for whom the crowd cheered. But then again, maybe he had known.

Taking Loki’s words as a sign of Loki’s goodwill, Fandral’s face relaxes notably. “He is standing his ground so far,” he says. “Not many have managed to last this long against Thor.”

Loki snorts, dark amusement curving his lips. “Thor is merely toying with him.” For what reason, Loki could only venture a guess, but the certainty remains, Thor could end this fight in a matter of moments if he so desired. “Surely you see it as well. You have fought alongside my brother often to know that he is holding back.”

“You are right, Loki,” Fandral chuckles after a moment of silent contemplation. “And the poor fool thinks he stands a chance against Thor. I wish Volstagg was here, perhaps we could have made another wager.”

“And where are the missing members of your merry group? It is so rare a sight to see you apart.”

“Hogun will join me at a tavern later, and Sif is actually fighting against the winner of this match.”

“Oh,” Loki says, his mouth pressing into a hard line. So Sif is marching steadily onward in her determination to prove herself just as worthy to hold a weapon and a shield in the service of Asgard as any man. Loki wonders would she be half as successful without Thor’s aid. And it pains him to admit it, if only to himself, that she most likely would. “That should prove to be an interesting match.”

“Thor first needs to end this one,” Fandral says, light and amused, but the look in his eyes as he holds Loki’s gaze is searching. “It seems he is enjoying himself too much.”

“He always does,” Loki all but whispers, more to himself than Fandral, returning his attention to the fight.

Thor takes another swing at his opponent, this time putting more force into the blow, sending the man down to his knees. The crowd cheers, and Loki stops himself from rolling his eyes but only barely. But instead of finishing the fight, Thor takes a step backward, his blue eyes flicking from his opponent to the cheering crowd, smile wide and triumphant, eyes blazing with fierce joy. It has been quite some time since Loki has seen his brother like this, truly in his element, even without Mjölnir in his hand, but the sight of him now, in his all glory, makes Loki remember why he has been avoiding close contact with his older brother lately. Caught like a fly in a spider’s web, Loki cannot look away, his chest a painful tangle of conflicting emotions, and that is when Thor’s gaze, moving through the crowd of gathered faces, stops when it comes to rest on Loki’s face.

Blue eyes widen, surprise quickly morphing into an almost tender look, too soft and out of place given the circumstances, Thor’s smile growing even bigger, the predatory edge of it softening considerably. And Loki hates how his own lips quirk upwards in return, a small smile ghosting over his lips, without Loki giving it a conscious thought. Thor takes a step forward, seemingly forgetting that he is in the middle of a match, and Loki now does roll his eyes when Thor rises his hand in a salute, his eyes sparking with unabashed smugness as they still hold Loki’s gaze even as he turns to face his opponent.

“Arrogant fool,” Loki snorts, but his voice holds a mere touch of annoyance. And he is not wrong. Thor is arrogant and reckless, and stubborn and inconsiderate, but he also makes it difficult for anyone not to love him dearly, and Loki is no exception. He is also Thor’s brother which makes the contradictory nature of Loki’s feelings for Thor all the more complicated.

With a wink, Thor finally returns his full attention to his opponent, who has had enough common sense to use Thor’s monetary distraction to get up to his feet. Although, he will not stay upright for long, Loki notes with a sense of amusement, as Thor’s blows gain in both speed and strength.

The man manages to withstand three more blows, blocking each one with more difficulty. Loki is faintly impressed with the man’s skill in holding his own against Thor who, now, seems intent on ending this fight as soon as possible. He even tries to deliver a blow of his own, which proves to be his undoing. Thor dodges it easily, his own staff moving fast, and this time the other man reacts too slow, only managing to soften the force of Thor’s blow, but he still ends up on his back in the dirt, with Thor’s staff pointed at his throat.

“Do you yield?” Thor asks, as if the man has any choice but to gasp out a breathless ‘yes’.

Thor’s face splits into a huge grin, and he offers the man his hand. He takes it, and Thor pulls him up, clapping him on the shoulder. “A worthy fight indeed. I look forward to rising my weapon next to you against enemies of Asgard.”

“The honor will be mine, my prince.” The man bows, and leaves the ring, his back straight, and head held high despite his loss.

Thor turns his face to the spectators, rising his staff high in triumph, and only then does the silence erupt in loud cheers and clapping. Thor’s brow furrows almost imperceptibly, the grin on his lips faltering when he meets Loki’s blank gaze, and Loki toys with the idea of denying Thor what he desires, but, as the frown deepens on Thor’s face, his eyes darkening, Loki sighs in defeat and starts clapping.

The dark cloud lifts from Thor’s face immediately, and Loki would be hard pressed to decide with whom he is annoyed more – Thor, for all his entitlement and arrogance, or himself, for still indulging him in it.

“I don’t think I remember when was the last time I have seen Thor lose a fight.”

Loki’s hands freeze mid-clap, his jaw clenching. _He_ can recall it. Every little detail is ingrained deeply within his mind – the wide-eyed shock of Thor’s face, dark satisfaction in his own chest as he knelt over Thor’s sprawled form with a dagger pressed against Thor’s throat. And a momentary flash of utter madness that still haunts him sometimes, the urge to press the dagger deeper, to see the blood flow freely from underneath the golden skin.

Blinking away the memory, Loki turns to face Fandral. “You believe Sif stands a chance against Thor?” Loki asks, genuinely curious. He doubts it, but even Thor is not invincible, if one knows where exactly to hit. And have a decent amount of luck.

Fandral chuckles, amused. “I know she does think it a possibility.” Growing serious, he fixes Loki with an almost challenging look. “Myself, I strongly doubt anyone stands a chance against Thor in a fair fight.”

Loki’s lips slowly stretch into a sharp grin. “The core of that statement is built on the misconception that fights have anything to do with fairness.” He drawls, his tone light. His chest, though, feels heavy with the weight of that simple word – fair. Loki despises it, and the hypocrisy it contains. Is it fair to be born a younger brother to an ideal you could never hope to achieve, and be content with it? Always in shadows, always taking the second place? “It hardly matters whether you fought fair if you end up losing.”

“Ever the opportunist,” Fandral says quirking his lips into a grin.

“I prefer the term practical,” Loki says, matching Fandral’s grin with one of his own. The voices around them die down suddenly, and Loki flicks his gaze toward the ring just in time to see Sif enter it with measured steps. “It holds much more satisfying sound than loser.”

“Does that mean you would be disinclined to accept a small, friendly wager over the winner of this match?”

Loki blinks, surprised into silence by Fandral’s audacity. He recovers quickly, but the scathing remark dies on his lips as his eyes take in the sight of Thor’s wide, warm smile as he takes his place opposite to Sif in the ring.

“Very well,” he hears himself saying, his eyes still fixed on the pair in the ring. They do make a stunning sight, a well matched pair, both in body and spirit, and Loki feels a sudden, inexplicable need to drag them apart.

“Surely you are jesting?” Fandral asks, frowning both in confusion and suspicion. “You would place your gold on Thor losing?”

Loki merely smirks. “I wonder how favorably Sif would react to your overwhelming confidence in her fighting prowess.”

“I have nothing but utmost respect for Sif’s skill, but I am hardly a fool when it comes to gold.” Fandral’s says lightly, but Loki cannot mistake the look in his eyes for anything but what it is – distrust. “But neither are you. And I doubt the time you have spent away from our company could have changed you quite as much.”

Loki’s eyes narrow fractionally, anger flashing in his chest, but he keeps his face carefully blank. “If I did not know any better I would think your words an accusation.” Loki’s’ voice is soft as velvet, but his eyes are anything but. To his credit, Fandral does not shy away from Loki’s gaze. “Or an insult. And I am not sure what I would like less.”

“It is neither,” Fandral says firmly, and Loki is almost inclined to believe him. Almost. “Merely caution based on past experience.”

Loki opens his mouth to reply, but the words die on his lips as the sudden silence descends upon the training grounds, reminding him as to why he is still squandering his time in one of the last places in Asgard he wishes to be.

Sif and Thor are circling each other, both cautious of making a first move, their eyes fixed firmly on each other, matching grins on both their faces. Something stirs in the pit of Loki’s stomach, a dark and bitter feeling Loki refuses to name. He clenches his hands into fists, nails digging deep into the palms of his hands, but no matter how much he wants, he cannot look away.

They move almost like a pair of dancers, both well aware of each other’s strength, their blows careful, their staffs moving almost in perfect harmony. Thor loses his patience first, feigning a blow, but Sif does not allow herself to be fooled, and when Thor’s real blow comes, Thor’s staff moving with a truly remarkable speed, Sif sidesteps it, and with a twirl of her staff she manages to land a blow behind Thor’s left knee. The look of surprise on Thor’s face is almost comical as his knee buckles, sending him don on one knee. Loki’s breath hitches in his throat, and he takes an almost involuntary step forward, the sight of Thor down on the ground sending a shudder through his body. It is both wrong and so terribly satisfying to see his perfect warrior of a brother in the exact pose Loki has found himself in so many times in the past. But then Loki’s eyes flick toward the one who has brought Thor down, and a violent rush of anger fills his chest.

It should be him, not Sif, who gets to have Thor down on his knees in the dirt. Who gets to laugh triumphant as Thor admits defeat.

For a briefest of moments, Sif stands still, looking almost as shocked as Thor, but she recovers quickly, her staff moving in for the deciding blow. But it never lands, Thor rolls over, and Sif’s staff hits only the dirt. Thor quickly rises to his feet, the muscles of his arms rippling as he straightens, twirling the staff in his hands almost playfully.

Loki’s chest feels painfully tight as he notes Thor’s eyes darkening, the clear blue turning to almost leaden grey, the grin fading from Thor’s lips, and the small bow of the blond head in a gesture of respect.

And that, finally, is the last straw. Swallowing against the bile gathered in his throat, Loki has no difficulty in recollecting his brother’s face as they fought the last time. When Loki finally, after so long a time of finding himself flat on his back, with Thor’s grinning face above him, managed to be the one to smile triumphantly. But it had not been respect that he saw on his brother’s face.

Suddenly feeling cornered, an irrational need to flee this accursed place stilling his lungs, Loki turns on his heel, ignoring the look of confusion on Fandral’s face, and stalks from the training grounds, and only when he has made it far enough so not even wind can carry the sound of voices rising in cheer, does he feel like he can breathe again.

******

“Out.” Loki says flatly without looking up from his notes.

Not that he has do so to know who has dared to disturb him in his private chambers. Not even his father’s visits, rare as they may be, are announced by a loud crash of doors and a sound of heavy strides. Or the scent of ozone that seems to cling to his brother’s skin.

“I would have words with you.”

Loki ignores the hint of warning in Thor’s voice, keeping his attention firmly on the sheet of paper in front of him. “And I would not.” He replies calmly. “So kindly take your leave.”

It is the wrong thing to say to Thor, especially when his temper is precariously close to escalating into fury. Combined with Loki’s refusal to truly acknowledge his brother’s presence, it is the equivalent of stepping into a dragon’s den armed with nothing but a smile and a twig. But it still catches Loki by surprise when two strong hands wrap around his biceps, dragging him up. He is too shocked to offer any kind of resistance so he allows Thor to haul him away from his desk, scattering the content of Loki’s desk in the process, the sound of metal clattering to the ground and the rustling of paper mixing with the sound of Thor’s harsh breaths.

When he finally comes to his senses, Loki finds himself almost plastered against his brother’s body, staring at the storm clouds gathered in Thor’s eyes. For a second, a truly frightening second, his heart stops its beating, and he feels like he is falling, or drowning, his only lifeline the bruising grip of Thor’s fingers. And the only reasonable – natural – course of action occurring to Loki is to move forward, and remove even the tiny sliver of space that still exists between him and his brother. He almost takes that small step forward, but he is stopped when Thor shakes him like an unruly child who needs to be disciplined for his misdemeanor.

“Norns know I have been patient, Loki.” Thor growls, the tight grip of his fingers crossing into the realm of painful. Loki grimaces, but the pain has his mind clearing of its momentary madness, anger sparking to life in his chest. “But my patience has run out.”

Loki snorts, his eyes narrowing. “You do not even know the meaning of the word.” Loki bites back, fixing Thor with a glare. “Now let go of me.”

The sound of thunder rumbling in the distance precedes the darkening of Thor’s eyes, his hold on Loki lessening fractionally, but not nearly enough for Loki to shake free of it. Like always, when it comes to raw physical strength, when Thor wants to keep Loki trapped there is nothing Loki can do about it.

“Not before I speak my mind.” Thor’s voice comes out as a low growl full of warning and deadly determination, and since they are standing so close Loki can almost feel the vibration of it against his face. Loki bites back the words that are gathered at the tip of his tongue. Angering Thor further will make him no less stubborn or insistent. “And I cannot trust you not to simply vanish out of spite.”

Loki does consider the possibility, it is not like Thor’s grip could stop him, but he would rather gnaw at his own arm than run from Thor from his own chambers.

Wrinkling his nose in distaste, Loki smiles, edges of his smile sharp enough to cut. “You could have at least done me the courtesy of visiting the baths before storming into my private chambers in a huff of childish anger.” Thor’s eyes narrow dangerously, and the sound of thunder is louder this time. Closer. Thor is without a doubt dangerously close to losing what tenuous control he has over his temper, and suddenly Loki wants nothing more than push him right over the edge. He decides against it. It is hardly prudent to have furious Thor in close quarters. Especially if those close quarters happen to be his private chambers. And it would hardly give him the answer as to why Thor had obviously marched straight to his room after his match against Sif, sweat and dirt still clinging to his skin and armour. And a rather large bruise adorning the left side of his face. “Now let go of me or you will find yourself clucking like a chicken every time you open your mouth to speak for a month.”

They stare at each other like two combatants in a ring one long moment, and no matter how willing Loki is to make good on his threat, there are many who could easily lift his curse, and Thor is well aware of it, but still, surprising Loki yet again in so little time, he takes a step back, releasing his hold on Loki.

No matter his seeming capitulation, Thor still looks no less angry, his shoulders drawn into a tense line, his chin held stubbornly high.

“Well, speak your mind,” Loki snaps when Thor seems content enough to merely glare at Loki. “So I can continue with the work that actually matters.”

“You left.”

Loki blinks, honestly confused. “You will have to be more generous with the details, Thor.” He says, relaxing minutely after what he hopes is the worst of Thor’s outburst had passed.

“You did not stay to see the winner of the match between Sif and myself.”

Loki stays silent, and for a moment, he genuinely thinks Thor is trying to make a fool out of him. But Thor continues to bore a hole in Loki’s head with his accusing glare, and if Loki believes anything about his elder brother, it is that he is physically incapable of such level of deception.

“Oh, you cannot… but you _are_.” Loki is caught between two equally strong desires – to either laugh out loud, or choke Thor with his bare hands. In the end he decides against both. Waving his hand in a dismissive gesture, Loki turns his back on Thor. “Go away, Thor. I am your brother, not an admirer. You already have more of those than is advisable. Or that you deserve.”

This time Loki fully expects Thor to resort to his favorite method of dealing with complications – brute force. And he is prepared to deal with it, none too gently, his fingers already sparking green in anticipation of an attack that never comes. What comes instead is a low sigh, followed by something that sounds almost as pleading. If the words came out of anyone else’s mouth.

“And I have only one brother. And I would have him back at my side.”

Loki presses his lips together in annoyance, almost regretting Thor’s unusual show of restraint. He never appreciates it when he cannot predict at least three moves his brother is about to make. Today, it seems, he cannot predict even one.

Silently contemplating his options, Loki finally turns to face Thor, his curiosity winning over Loki’s desire to provoke Thor into a more familiar pattern of behavior by simply ignoring him.

“Has Sif hit you harder than that bruise is leading me to believe?” Loki scowls, not bothering to hide the hostility. “I seem to recall you displaying entirely different sentiment last time we spoke privately.”

The anger is still there, a flash of lightning amidst the grey clouds of Thor’s gaze, but Loki is amazed at the underlying torrent of sadness, guilt, and, surprisingly, shame.

The corner of Thor’s lips twitches, but the amusement stays there, not moving an inch toward his eyes. “Spoke? I recall exchanging only a small amount of words with you that day.”

Loki’s eyes narrow, his hands clenching tightly. “And I recall each and every one with perfect clarity.” He says softly, his words dripping with venom. “Shall I remind you?”

“If that will grant you any amount of satisfaction,” Thor says firmly, spreading his arms as if welcoming an attack. “Flay me with your words. But let this feud end, brother.”

Loki merely stares at Thor, anger robbing him of speech, the memory of that day blazing to life behind his eyelids.

_Thor grinning as Loki stumbles back, one hand rising to touch his left cheek, the skin still tingling from the force of Thor’s blow._

_“You will receive no quarter from me, little brother,” he says, his eyes glinting with fierce delight, as he tries to deliver another blow. Loki dodges it, rolling away from it, his chest heaving with heavy breaths. When he throws a look at his brother, Thor looks like he is barely exerting himself. “You requested this fight, and you shall receive it.”_

_Something snaps inside Loki at that, cold, dark fury coiling tightly around his mind, a part of him disconnectedly watching himself standing deathly still as Thor charges at him, only to fall down onto the ground as he flies through Loki’s illusion, a truly amusing look of surprise adorning his face._

_Loki appears next to a weapon rack, pulling out a first weapon that comes to his hand – a longsword – and throws it to Thor._

_Thor still looks shell-shocked, but he catches the sword with practiced ease, rising to his feet in one smooth movement._

_“Loki,” Thor says, a low growl of a warning, but he still takes a step forward, rising the sword. “This is not what you asked of me.”_

_“Well, Thor, it seems I have changed my mind.” Loki says, his lips curving over his teeth in a sneer. Reaching behind his back, he pulls out a silver dagger. Flicking his wrist, he conjures its twin to appear in his other hand. “And worry not, brother, I will show_ you _no quarter.”_

“You are asking me to finish something you have started.” Loki forces through gritted teeth, blinking away the images of that day.

“You are hardly blameless!” Thor bites back, visibly straining to keep control of his temper. “You turned a friendly sparring match between brothers into an honorless fight meant for bitter enemies.”

“Honorless?” Loki repeats softly, his body growing taut as a bowstring. It is almost humorous, and it certainly is ironic, even though he doubts Thor can appreciate it, how what should have been a reconciliation, is slowly turning into an echo of that day. “Come now, Thor, why stop on honorless. You hardly did that day.”

Thor blinks, and Loki is starting to grow frustrated with Thor’s continued show of patience and restraint. Maybe he does regret what has occurred between them that day. That does not mean Loki will make this easy on him. Far too many people already do.

“And you stopped only when you had a dagger pressed against my neck.” Thor says, and Loki almost flinches at the note of sadness lurking underneath the accusation in Thor’s voice. “Will that be the price I will have to pay this day as well, brother?”

_His blood is rushing wildly, and he is amazed at how steady is the hand that holds the dagger pressed against Thor’s neck, and for a moment, he feels a wild rush of almost carnal pleasure at the power he has over Thor, lying helpless on his back in the dirt, his eyes wide in shock. All that might and strength finally yielding to him, after so long, and now, Thor is at his mercy, and all he has to do is press the dagger deeper…_

“Loki?” Thor mutters, alarm rising in his eyes almost as fast as fury, and Loki almost jumps away from Thor, his head clearing of the momentary madness. He swallows, tightening his hold on the dagger in a futile attempt of forcing his hand to stop shaking.

“You should know that trying to paint yourself a martyr does not become you.” Loki says, smiling thinly, but the memory of that moment still lingers, making his words ring hollow in his own ears. “It is a tad too melodramatic.”

Thor’s eyes are twin flames of anger, frustration and hurt, but he still remains strangely subdued. “I hardly see how spite is any better, brother.”

“Spite?” Loki repeats, incredulous. “Only you would be arrogant as to think spite has anything to do with any of this.”

“Then say what is it that I have done to wrong you so!” Thor demands, taking a step forward, but stopping abruptly when Loki takes a matching step back. But it is not fear of Thor that makes Loki back away, it is the lingering feel of that dark and vicious anger that almost made him hurt Thor. It still frightens him, how badly he’d wanted it. “I have spoken harshly in anger, I admit to that, but is it not the time for you to stop your silent sulking and admit that both of us had been at fault that day.”

“Go away, Thor.” Loki says, his voice barely a whisper. Thor’s insistence is far too tempting, angry, bitter words of resentment and hurt fighting to claw their way past Loki’s lips, so Loki clenches his jaw together, his will straining against the almost overwhelming need to pour every last drop of venom that has been coursing through his blood lately. To lash out at Thor, make him see past the image of a younger brother forever following in his footsteps, content to always come second best, no matter his efforts or worth. He is not that boy anymore, has not been for a while now. And he is as far from content as he could possibly be. But Thor does not see it. Cannot see it. “I am not in the mood to indulge you.”

He turns, and starts to gather the notes scattered all around the floor with trembling hands. He is intent on ignoring Thor until his older brother finally capitulates and leaves in a flurry of red cape and righteous anger, or, more likely, tries to force the issue. And right now, Loki could not say what he would prefer.

“Has that victory meant so much to you?” Thor says instead, now sounding only tired, almost resigned. “Am I beyond your forgiveness now, Loki?”

Loki laughs, bitter and harsh, but he stays with his back turned to Thor. “What would you know about how much one would value a victory when you are hardly familiar with the taste of defeat?”

“I am no stranger to defeat, Loki.”

“Then tell me, Thor, when has been the last time you have been denied a victory?”

“If you had stayed today, you would not have to ask.”

Loki blinks, his fingers clenching tightly around the notes in his hand, crumpling them. He swallows both the laugh and the bile gathered in his throat, turning to face Thor.

“So. Sif bested you.” Loki says, and even though he tries to sound mocking, his voice comes out almost accusing. “And how did it feel?”

“It had been an honest defeat.” Thor says slowly, carefully, his eyes fixed firmly on Loki’s face. Searching. Vaguely hopeful. And it almost makes Loki laugh out loud. Thor still does not understand. “No matter your opinion on the matter, everyone can be defeated. I am no exception.”

“An honest defeat?” Loki repeats softly, but his smile is anything but. “Not cowardly and unbecoming of a warrior?”

Thor winces as if hit, his own words flung at him like daggers. And somehow, Loki cannot help but think they had cut him more than they ever could Thor.

Thor opens his mouth, but shuts it without saying a word, his shoulders sagging. It is a sight Loki is unfamiliar with, his older brother stripped of his arrogance and confident smile. Of his determination and fury. Surprisingly, it makes for a hollow comfort, bitter and cold. Yet another defeat masked as victory.

“Leave, Thor.” Loki says, weariness clinging to his bones like leaden weight. Even anger has fled his chest, leaving nothing but dull ache, and a desire to be at peace, alone with his thoughts, and nowhere near Thor.

Thor grimaces, and for a moment, Loki thinks Thor will remain stubborn – _of course he will, when is he not?_ – insisting on untangling the mess their relationship has become as of late. Even if by force alone, no matter how precariously close to breaking it already is.

But Thor does not. His head drops just a little, his lips thinning into a hard line. “Is that what you truly desire?”

“It is.” Loki says flatly, keeping his face carefully blank.

Anger and hurt flash in Thor’s eyes, but he stays silent. He gives Loki one last look before turning on his heel, his heavy footsteps echoing loudly in the silent room.

Loki’s shoulders relax in relief, tension leaving his body in one deep exhale, his eyes fluttering shut. Finally, he can breathe freely, and think. He is sorely in need of thinking clearly, and being near Thor, somehow, always ends with him getting distracted by his conflicted array of emotions for his older brother.

Too caught up in his thoughts, Loki does not notice the abrupt halt of Thor’s retreating steps, his eyes flying open in surprise at the soft sadness of Thor’s words.

“When I saw your face in the crowd today, I thought…” Thor’s words falter, and Loki bites down on his lower lip, clenching his hands tightly, alarmingly close to succumbing to that damnable effect Thor seems to have on everyone – never to deny him anything. But Loki stays silent, swallowing the words, staring at Thor’s red cape, both frustrated and relieved he cannot see Thor’s face. “I do miss you, brother.” 

With that, Thor finally strides out of Loki’s chamber, the sound of heavy door closing after his retreating back echoing loudly in Loki’s ears. _Mocking_ him.

“Norns damn you, Thor.” Loki whispers bitterly, glaring at the closed door, his ruined notes falling from his opened hand without him even noticing it happening.

_And damn me as well._

******

Loki is not, to the full extent of that word, hiding. With Thor away for the last five days, there really is no one in whole of Asgard he could be hiding from. Brooding sounds even less appealing, even in the privacy of his own mind. In the end, though, it hardly matters what word could be attached to Loki sitting amongst the thick line of trees in the palace gardens, absentmindedly conjuring small animal forms, only to crush them in his fist.

“You always come here when your heart is uneasy.”

Startled, Loki closes his fist around a small, flickering red dragon, rising to his feet. But out of all faces in all of Asgard, this is the one he will always welcome.

“Mother,” he greets the Queen of Asgard, taking Frigga’s hand and bringing it to his lips. “Even if it were uneasy, your presence would surely chase away its troubles.”

Frigga’s lips curve into a playful smile. “Do not try to charm me into distraction, Loki.”

“I would never presume such a thing.” Loki says, corners of his lips curving upwards into a smile that is almost identical to that on his mother’s face.

Frigga chuckles. “Of course you would. That does not mean I would allow you to do so. Now,” Frigga says, her face growing serious. “Will you take a walk with your mother?” Her words may be soft, but there is no mistaking them for anything but what they are – a demand.

Loki bows his head in acquiesce, tucking his mother’s hand under his own. “As my Queen wishes.”

Frigga’s eyebrows raise slightly, admonishing him, but there is a twinkle in her eyes even as she shakes her head at her younger son. “Sometimes, I wish you were less skilled in telling what you know others wish to hear, and more in what is true.”

“Where would be the fun in that?” Loki says, his smile faltering, turning almost self-deprecating at a knowing, almost sad look in his mother’s eyes. “We all have our little talents.” He adds in a soft voice.

“And you have many, silly child. Avoiding to be found being one of them.” Frigga says, fixing Loki with a stern look.

“There is no place in the Nine Realms that is hidden before Heimdall’s all-seeing eyes. As there is no place in Asgard where I can hide from _your_ eyes.”

“I would be a poor mother if I allowed you to hide from me. No matter how skilled in shadowing your steps you have become lately.”

Loki almost falters in his steps, but manages to keep walking. More importantly, he keeps the shock from appearing on his face. He trusts Frigga more than anyone, but his recent endeavor in shielding himself from Heimdall’s eyes is something he wishes to keep to himself. Even if she already suspects. And how could she not? She is the reason he knows all that he knows about magic. And he loves her all the more for it. But she does not press the issues, and Loki would rather not lie to Frigga, so he stays silent.

“You were very young when you first choose this to be your safe haven.” Frigga says after a moment of silence, and Loki’s entire body tenses. He knows what is his mother alluding at, and he does not like it in the least. “Even then you sought solitude far more than a child should. Especially when you were hurting.”

“Must we do this? I am hardly a child any longer.”

“But you are my child still,” Frigga says fiercely, stopping abruptly and taking hold of Loki’s face between the palms of her hands. “And you are hurting.”

“Even if I am,” Loki smiles, but it is a thin, strained smile that would fool no one, let alone Frigga. “I am no longer a small boy, allowed to run to his mother to soothe his aches.”

“Three brave, magnificent men in my family, and all three can be such stubborn fools at times.” Frigga shakes her head in exasperation, and Loki smiles, a warm surge of adoration – of love – filling his chest. “I swear, Odin has the easier task of watching over the Nine Realms than I do watching over the three of you.”

“Surely it is not such hardship.”

“It would be less of a hardship if my two sons would remember the time when they used to be inseparable. Do you not remember those times, Loki?”

His jaw clenching, Loki takes a step backward, his face slipping free of his mother’s gentle hold. He does remember those times. Chasing after a blonde boy through a field of green, his loud, carefree laughter and twinkling, blue eyes beckoning Loki to follow. And even if Loki does follow, the blond boy always stays a step out of reach.

The memory tastes bittersweet on his tongue, even more since it somehow manages to convey the core of Loki’s relationship with Thor – no matter how hard he tries, he will never catch up with his older brother.

“We are brothers,” Loki says, his words coming out light, no trace of the bitterness and hurt he feels. _But we are so different… why are we so different?_ It is a question that has plagued his mind not once, and no answer he came up with offered him peace of mind. He almost asks that question now, the words catching on his lips. But he swallows them back, the edge of his mouth curving into a smirk. “It is mandatory for us to fight from time to time.”

Frigga sighs, the look in her eyes thoughtful. “Distance used to be what both you and your brother could not bear while you were growing up.” A corner of Loki’s lips twitches, a smile ghosting over his face as he remembers hiding in the shadows, holding back laughter, his shoulders pressed against Thor’s broader one’s as their tutor stormed through the halls in futile search for the two princes of Asgard. How many times have they done such a thing? And even if Thor had been the one to incite such an adventure, it had always been Loki who made the thought into action. “And this is where you spent most of that year when your Father took Thor with him to Alfheim, to put an end to the rebellion.”

Loki blinks, keeping his face carefully blank, but even now, centuries later, he can recall the turbulent myriad of emotions that were his constant companion that year, as he kept his distance from everyone, seeking the solitude of this garden, plagued by envy and hurt, but most of all fear at the possibility of never seeing Thor again.

“Oh, yes, I do recall how even then Thor was the one deemed worthy of following Father.” Loki says harsher than he intended, envy and hurt lacing his words. He shuts his eyes briefly, his jaw clenched tight. “And I was the one left behind.”

“Is _that_ truly what you recall, Loki?” Frigga asks, her voice barely a whisper but there is steel underneath it. “What I recall is a young boy, hurting and afraid, asking for his older brother.”

“As I said, Mother. I am not a boy anymore.”

“And, yet, you are here yet again. Alone and hurting. As is your brother.”

Loki snorts. “Thor is hardly alone. Wherever he walks, four loyal shadows follow.” His face wrinkling in distaste, he adds bitterly. “Especially on quests that involve slaughter of some unsuspecting wild animal.”

“You used to accompany your brother on such quests.”

“You know Thor, Mother. He is exceptionally difficult, dare I say unreasonable, whenever the word no is involved.”

“And you, my child, have always managed to spin circles around your brother with your words. Even around his temper.” Loki grimaces, but stays silent. She is right, of course. “So, tell me, what has changed between you two? Every time I see you together, I see the distance between you grow, and I will not stand by and idly watch as you drift apart.”

Loki sighs. “Mother, it is a mere spat between brothers, not a mortal feud.” He offers placatingly, allowing his face to relax into a smile, hoping it will be enough to ease Frigga’s mind. “Certainly not something that deserves your concern.”

Frigga looks at him silently, her eyes boring into Loki’s, and Loki feels his heart speeding its beat. He is hardly unskilled in keeping up pretenses, and he has long since learned how to hide from others what he does not wish to be seen. But this is his mother, the one who taught him everything he knows. The one who knows him best.

“Very well, I will not interfere further. I will leave you to mend your relationship by yourself.” Frigga sighs, the corners of her lips curved in a sad smile, the palm of her hand a gentle, soothing presence against the side of Loki’s face. Loki relaxes somewhat, leaning into her touch, but he knows this is a mere reprieve. Queen of Asgard does not relent this easy. “You will have the chance to make the first step tonight at dinner. Your brother had returned to us.”

“Honestly, does Asgard need to celebrate each and every time Thor drags a bloody carcass from one of his hunts?” Loki rolls his eyes, annoyed.

“Hush, you wicked child.” Frigga warns him, but she is smiling now. Loki finds himself returning her smile. “There will be no grand feast, but a family dinner. Just the four of us. And, Loki? I expect you to behave.”

Loki frowns, growing serious. Family dinner? An unusual occurrence. Especially considering Thor’s – no doubt – triumphant return. Something stirs in the pit of his stomach, a faint flicker of unease, a first cloud darkening the clear sky. He does not let it show, though, bowing his head in acquiescence.

“Your wish is my command, my Queen.” Loki says, his face splitting into a mischievous grin. “I will be at my utmost best tonight.”

Frigga shakes her head. “My clever child,” Frigga’s amused voice does not match the sudden solemnness of her eyes. “Such sweet words, but how much truth do they hold?”

Loki stays silent, the widening of his grin the only answer he offers. Frigga sighs, but accepts Loki’s offered hand.

As they walk in silence through the garden, seemingly content, Loki cannot shake off the sense of growing dread, feeling like he is walking down a path that leads to a dangerous place, and no matter how much he resists, he cannot stray from it.

******

Despite his still lingering sense of unease, as far as quiet, intimate dinners go, this one has been quite uneventful so far.

Aside from Thor’s initial uncommon reserve, his face looking more wary than triumphant, nothing extraordinary has happened. For his part, Loki is keeping good on his word. He is behaving. Even more than that. He is going out of his way to be amiable to Thor.

Thor greets his efforts with a frown and a doubtful look, but his guard drops after a while, and it takes little effort to coax Thor into sharing the details of his latest adventure.

“… and then Fandral slashed its middle head and the mighty beast roared in rage, the black blood spilling on the ground, scorching it with its venom. The beast slashed with its claws at him, turning its both remaining heads at Fandral. That is when I…”

Taking a sip of the wine, Loki keeps his attention on Thor’s face, ignoring the gory details of Thor’s latest heroic deed, regretting only the fact that Thor did not think it prudent to acquire a sample of the creature’s blood. Thor, for all his straightforward and simple tastes, is hardly a fool Loki likes to call him. But out of the two, Loki is the one who has always had the mastery over words. Years ago, when his heart had not been poisoned by bitterness and envy, Loki used to entertain the Asgard’s court by creating imaginary worlds, spinning tales of bravery and honor, holding his audience captive by sheer skill of his silver tongue.

Then there is Thor. He tells tales like he does everything – with his entire being, pouring his heart and passion into words, and it is his spirit that captures the attention and hearts of his audience. Like it does now, Thor’s lips stretched into a wide, boisterous smile, a gleeful enjoyment in his eyes, and Loki finds himself captivated by the sheer lustful joy on Thor’s face, his cup raised, but forgotten, as he studies his brother’s face with an exasperating mixture of tenderness and annoyance that is making his fingers clench tighter around the cup in his hand.

Lost in thoughts, Loki does not note that the seemingly endless torrent of words had stopped, and that Thor’s earnest expression had turned into a frown, his narrowed eyes focused on Loki.

Swallowing a groan of frustration, Loki forces his mouth into a smile, rising his cup in salute. “To my brother, the greatest warrior Asgard has,” he hears himself saying, and, to his own surprise, he discovers that his words are not entirely insincere. “May the tales of your deeds last forever.”

Thor’s frown deepens for one short moment, his eyes searching Loki’s face, probably seeking a trace of mockery, but Loki holds Thor’s gaze unflinchingly, his small grin half-hidden behind the rim of his cup. But then Thor’s face relaxes, frown fading into an expression of joy.

“Thank you, brother.” Thor says, rising his own cup to his lips. “A high praise indeed. I will do my best not to disappoint.”

Loki’s grin widens. “Although,” he drawls. “You would be wise to let others compose the tales.” At the slight narrowing of Thor’s eyes, he adds pleasantly. “To make them easier on the ears.”

Thor holds Loki’s gaze for a brief second, before bursting into loud, carefree laughter. “Would you do it, brother?” Thor asks, and there is something earnest, almost childlike in Thor’s open gaze, invoking memories of happier, less complicated days of their childhood. Something twists in the pit of Loki’s stomach, awkward and painful, something that almost, but not quite, resembles regret. “I know no one who could do it with more skill than you, Loki.”

Forcing back the sudden, unwanted surge of childish sentiment, Loki allows himself a wide grin. “Only if you accomplish something worthy of my effort.”

Something flashes in the depths of Thor’s eyes, something fierce, almost dark, his smile turning sharper. Thor never could resist a challenge. Imaginary or real. “There is bound to be a quest in all the Nine Realms that will satisfy even you, Loki.”

Before Loki has a chance to answer, he is interrupted by a soft sigh. His brow creasing, Loki forces his eyes away from the challenge in his brother’s gaze. When he meets Frigga’s raised eyebrows, he smiles apologetically, putting down his cup.

“It is a comfort that my two sons can still act like brothers,” Frigga says, but there is a twinkle of amusement in her eyes. “Even if you choose to display it by bickering like the boys you once were.”

“And I will take it as a comfort if they remember that they are no longer children but princes of Asgard.” Odin’s voice is low, but Loki’s smile fades at the note of impatience in it. He sneaks a glance at Thor, and feels his lips tug upwards involuntarily at the poor display of humility he sees on his brother’s face. Thor catches his glance, his own lips forming a small, playful, almost conspiratory smile. It is a small gesture, but Loki feels the weight of resentment in his chest lessen a little, startled by the sudden awareness just how much he had missed Thor’s presence in his life. “It would hardly reflect well on Asgard if its heir and his brother would act in such manner on Vanaheim.”

Loki blinks, his light mood vanishing abruptly as his gaze flicks toward Odin’s face. His father looks as stoic as ever, his eye betraying nothing. His gaze turns to his mother’s face, but even there he finds no answer, only a small, comforting smile. And that does nothing to alleviate Loki’s growing unease.

“Vanaheim?” Thor asks, frowning.

“Your bravery needs no further proof, my son, but valor is not the only quality a good king needs.” Odin says, his voice softening, but to Loki it seems as the entire room is shaking with the force of a single, casually said word. King. It echoes inside his mind, freezing the breath inside his lungs, and it takes him all his strength not to storm out of this room, as the realization slowly dawns on his brother’s face, transforming Thor’s usually cocky expression into one of awe, making him seem strangely vulnerable. “He also needs patience, cunning and a strong will to wade through not as glorious, but equally necessary side of kingship. Politics.”

In any other moment, Loki would delight in the dumbfounded expression on Thor’s face, but in this moment, he cannot spare a thought beyond keeping all his emotions carefully hidden behind a blank expression. He knew this would happen sooner or later, despite Odin’s previous vagueness on the subject. Thor is the elder son, the better warrior, Asgard’s favourite, and yet, to actually hear the confirmation from Odin’s lips, has the same impact as would a twist of a dagger inside his chest.

“Father, I…”Thor’s voice hitches, the awe on his face turning into an expression of fierce pride, and Loki has to clench his jaw together to stop himself from speaking. “I will not disappoint you.”

Loki avoids looking at his father, keeping his gaze trained on a safe spot somewhere over Thor’s left shoulder, but he can hear the note of pride in Odin’s voice.

“I have faith that you will not. But,” the sudden change in Odin’s voice makes Loki’s head snap in his father’s direction, but he catches the darkening of Thor’s gaze with the corner of his eyes. “There is time yet before you take over the burden of the throne. And it is a burden, Thor, make no mistake about it.”

“Then it will be a burden I will carry gladly.”

Loki clenches his jaw tighter, his teeth gritting together. His initial shock is wearing off, and it is anger, dark and bitter that is starting to fill his chest, and Loki is not sure how long he will be able to keep himself under control. Playing the part of a quiet second son, satisfied with scraps left after Thor has gotten his fill.

“Your impatience does you no credit, my son, but even I can recall that youth has no love for patience or temperance. But you will have time to acquire the taste for it. Starting with a visit to Vanaheim.”

“Why Vanaheim?”

“Because the realms need to be assured of Asgard’s protection.” Odin says, leaning back in his chair. “And who better to do so than the future king of Asgard.” Odin’s gaze suddenly shifts from Thor to Loki, and Loki freezes, a horrifying thought that all his tempestuous emotions are somehow plainly written all across his face stealing his breath, but all Odin does is smile with satisfaction. “And your brother will accompany you on your journey.”

“I will?” Loki asks softly, his voice betraying none of the feelings twisting around his heart, his anger taking shape of something raw and painful. He even manages to look mildly interested, rising an eyebrow in question. “To what end?”

A flash of concern appears in Frigga’s eyes, but Loki only has eyes for Odin, his gaze fixed firmly on his father’s face. He should know better than to search for that what he will not find, but knowing that does little to stop him from hoping to see a barest trace of regret, or sympathy, or something – _anything_ – that will make him believe that Odin thought him, even for a briefest of moments, worthy of taking the throne.

“You have expressed an interest in Vanir magic more than on one occasion, Loki,” Odin responds, and Loki’s smile falters. It is not the truth, and they both know it. Not that it matters, though. “This should please you, my son.”

“It does.” The words fall from his lips almost without his conscious thought, even as his chest feels tighter with every passing moment, the bile in his throat almost chocking him. He knows why he is being granted his wish now, and the knowledge makes him want to scream in rage, but all he does is smile faintly. “You have my gratitude, Father.”

Odin smiles, his usually stern face relaxing into an expression of satisfaction. “To the future king of Asgard.” He says, rising his cup. Thor’s face splits into a huge grin, his eyes alight with joy and pride, as he accepts Odin’s salute, and if Loki’s hand trembles as he follows his father’s example, it goes unnoticed by everyone at the table.

“To the future king of Asgard.” Loki repeats dully, and not even the sweet taste of vine can wash away the bitterness of those words from his mouth.

******

There is something truly magnificent about Asgard in the night. Not that daylight diminishes Asgard’s beauty, but Loki enjoys the way the nightlights dance and flicker over the sea, the noise and constant murmur of Asgard’s citizens quieting, leaving only a distant hum of wind and the sound of waves crashing against the shore.

Taking a deep breath, Loki lowers himself on the ground, his eyes trained on the far edge of Asgard, where sea meets the endless abyss beneath. The final journey of heroes before their ascent to Valhalla. And although death is hardly something he dwells on often, now, when he thinks about it, he cannot imagine himself joining the long line of heroes already there, enjoying the well-deserved comforts of Valhalla’s endless feasts.

But _Thor_ … oh, _him_ Loki can imagine there without any difficulties. His shining, golden brother, casting a shadow even in the golden halls itself. The greatest warrior in Asgard. Its future king.

It has been five days since Odin’s revelation. Five days of bitterness and resentment churning inside Loki. Five days of struggle against the foolish desire to shout his rage at the world. Five days of having to put up with Thor’s grinning face, of having to watch the triumph and unrestrained delight become a permanent expression on his elder brother’s face. And do it with a smile on his face, and pretty, meaningless lies on his lips.

Up until tonight, Loki was doing well in keeping up appearances, fooling even his mother. He had even managed to endure most of today’s feast, rising his cup in salute with the others. Laughing and clapping as the tales of Thor’s adventures were shared around the great table. And then, suddenly, he simply could not anymore. He felt like the walls were starting to close in on him, his throat closing. He almost ran from the palace, barely stopping himself from stumbling, his breathing calming only when the laughter from the feast died down behind him.

Without any clear destination in mind, Loki wandered aimlessly through the almost empty streets of Asgard, grateful for his decision to wear an almost plain attire, unwilling to suffer the enquiring gazes of guards and any Asgardian choosing to wander the streets at this late hour. Lost in thought, Loki stopped his aimless walk when he reached the shore, not recalling making a decision to actually come here.

Sighing, he tugs the cape firmer around his shoulders. He should go back, he knows this. Their journey to Vanaheim is set for tomorrow, and he will need to have his mind clear if he is to make it through the entire journey without making his feelings regarding Thor’s future ascension to the throne known.

Swallowing a growl, he tightens his hands into fists. Can no one see what Loki sees so clearly? Are they all so dazzled by Thor’s brilliant smile that no one seems to care how brash, arrogant and unrestrained Thor is? How _dangerous_? How he never stops to think about the consequences of his decisions? And he is to rule Asgard, and watch over the other eight realms. He, who is barely fit to watch out for himself, confident that everything can be solved by a swing of his beloved hammer.

“I would loathe to be the one who put you in such a state, brother.” A soft voice breaks through the turbulent haze of his thoughts, making Loki’s head whip sideways, his eyes searching its owner. Only to find the familiar broad shape of his brother, silhouetted against the Asgard’s lights. The last person he expected – and wanted – to see. “I am not, am I?

Startled by Thor’s sudden appearance, and not a little annoyed by it, it takes Loki a moment to relax his features into a smile, his heart slowing into its normal rhythm as he gathers himself.

“If I did not know any better, I would say you are worried, brother.”

Loki cannot see the expression on Thor’s face, but he can hear a small, amused chuckle. “The last person who angered you was Volstagg when he accidentally pushed you into a bear’s den.” Thor says lightly. Loki tenses minutely when Thor casually strolls over, coming to sit next to him. Thor’s face is relaxed, lips curved into a small smile, and Loki cannot find even a trace of that infernal smugness that has been grating on his nerves the last five days. Even Thor’s clothes are plain, a simple, black cloak over a blue shirt and black breaches. Not the clothes Thor had been wearing at the feast. “A month after that unfortunate incident, he found himself unable to eat anything but honey and bread. For a week.”

Loki keeps his face blank. Completely innocent. “Not all unsolved Asgard’s mysteries lead back to me, Thor.” He says evenly, a corner of his mouth twitching when he recalls absolute misery on Volstagg’s face that week. Although, he should consider himself lucky it lasted only a week. _Accidentally_ pushed Loki into a bear’s den. As accidentally as it had been Loki casting the spell on him afterward. “There is such a thing as coincidence. Or, if you are feeling particularly fatalistic, fate.”

Thor throws him a sideways glance, an unusually contemplative look in his eyes. He keeps his gaze trained on Loki’s face for a long moment, long enough for Loki to start to feel uncomfortably self-conscious. “Whatever it was, it was amusing to watch. Not for Volstagg, of course. He still shudders whenever someone mentions it.” Thor says softly, turning his gaze toward the sea, and Loki releases a breath he was not aware he had been holding.

He has no idea as to why Thor sought him out now, on the eve of their journey, and that makes him nervous. Ever since the fateful dinner, they were civil to each other in public, but Thor made no attempt at clearing the air between them.

“If you do not wish to accompany me on the journey to Vanaheim, I will plead your case to Father.” Thor says after a long pause, his eyes still trained on some far point in the distance.

“Is that what _you_ desire?” Loki asks, his eyes fixed on Thor’s face. His brother is not someone whose feelings are difficult to divine, even to those who know him far less than Loki. Thor does not bother with masks or pretense, his moods only lately not accompanied by a sudden change in weather. But right now? Loki cannot tell what is on Thor’s mind, and that knowledge is disconcerting. “To venture there on your own?”

Thor’s head snaps toward Loki, his eyes widening. “ _No_.” He exclaims hotly, look of disbelief on his face. “That is the last thing I desire.”

“Then why offer me reprieve?”

“Because I feel that is what you desire, brother.” Thor says softly, a barely there smile ghosting his lips. “I know the reason Father wishes you with me on this journey. I am not a fool, despite what you both think of me.”

Loki snorts. “Father would hardly entrust the future of Asgard to someone he thinks a fool.”

“But you do? Think me a fool?”

“What does it matter what I think?” Loki says, a touch of bitterness lacing his words. “Father is the one whose opinion matters.”

Thor frowns, turning towards Loki. Loki does not see Thor’s hand moving, only feels a strong, warm grip on the back of his neck. He does not resist when Thor pulls him closer, turning him so that they are facing each other, and Loki has no choice but to look at his brother’s face.

“You are my brother.” Thor says fiercely, his words punctuated by the strong grip he has on the back of Loki’s neck. “And I value your opinion and your counsel, but even more than that,” Thor pauses, pulling Loki’s head closer, bringing their foreheads together. “I love you, Loki, despite our recent disagreement.”

There is something earnest and almost vulnerable in Thor’s gaze, and Loki feels his resolve wane under it despite himself. Sighing, he closes his eyes. His life would be infinitely less complicated if he did not love his brother far more than he resented him.

“I am going to Vanaheim because I wish to go, Thor,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. The grip Thor has on his neck tightens, making Loki’s eyes snap open, his breath catching in his throat at the intensity of feelings in Thor’s eyes up this close. For one long moment, Loki stays like that, forgetting what comes tomorrow, forgetting even that Thor is the future king of Asgard. Forgetting everything save the warmth of the hand on his neck and the sense of belonging. It is easier than it should be, almost as easy as bringing his own hand to rest on the back of Thor’s neck. “Not because of Father’s demand.”

The look in Thor’s eyes is caught between suspicion and hope. “Truly?”

Loki shrugs, his lips curving upwards. “Have you ever known me to tell a lie?”

The laughter that tears from Thor’s throat is loud and carefree, the vibrations of it ghosting over Loki’s face, and in that moment, Loki can almost make himself believe that everything will be well between them.

_Almost._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for kudos and comments, they are much appreciated. This chapter is long and here starts that butchering of Norse mythology I have mentioned. Also, there is a line in this chapter from one of the deleted scenes from the first Thor movie. I love it and felt it appropriate for the scene. I hope you will enjoy this chapter.

“You know, Thor, one of the benefits of traveling by Bifrost is that we can choose an exact location and then be there in almost an instant.”

Thor tightens the reins, forcing his horse into a slower pace. His mouth curves into smile at the note of annoyance in Loki’s voice. But there is no trace of cold, sharp resentment he was used to hearing from Loki lately. “You are merely lazy, brother. A ride in the open air will do you good. You spend far too much time inside that musty, old library.”

Throwing a sideways glance at his brother, Thor does not miss the way Loki takes a deep breath, fixing him with a glare. “I did not have to travel all the way to Vanaheim for a ride, Thor. We are here for a purpose.”

“I am aware of that, but our purpose will not be delayed by more than a few hours.”

Loki stops his horse, and Thor does the same, looking expectantly at Loki.

“Are you nervous, Thor?” Loki asks, amused. “Is that the reason why we are taking a scenic route through Vanaheim?”

Thor lowers his gaze, a smile still playing on his lips. It would be a lie to deny a certain nervous flutter in the pit of his stomach, but the reason is far simpler than Loki presumes. “It has been too long since we have spent a time alone, Loki.” He says, his eyes flicking to Loki’s face in time to see a startled expression flash across his brother’s face before composed expression takes its place. “So I took the opportunity when it presented itself.”

Loki snorts, shaking his head. “Naturally, I had no say in the matter.”

“You would only say no.”

“It appears you will do well here even without my counsel, brother. You have already mastered the wisdom of not asking the questions to which you would not like to hear the answers.”

“Is it truly such a burden to be here with me, Loki?” Thor asks, growing serious.

The expression on Loki’s face is unreadable, and it is frustrating to always guess the paths of Loki’s mind when Loki follows his own with such ease.

“As long as you refrain from dragging us on some misplaced heroic quest, I suppose I will be able to survive your company for a few hours.”

“Do not hold back, brother,” Thor snorts, but he cannot stop himself from grinning. “Your gentle words could lead me to think highly of myself.”

“Like you need any incentive.” Loki says, smirking. “If your ego grows any bigger, there will not be enough space in the Nine Realms to contain it.”

“And you are such a shining example of humility, brother.” Thor says, rising his eyebrows pointedly. They are bickering like small children in the middle of the road on another realm, and Thor cannot think of anything he would rather be doing at this moment. “When you returned from Nidavellir that time when father sent you there on an errand, how long did the festivities last? Remind me, brother.”

Loki’s face does not change, but his smile turns from amused to sharp, and Thor knows he has made a mistake. But lately, speaking with his brother has become a task that could rival his most challenging adventures. It is like walking through a labyrinth, never knowing what lies behind the next turn – salvation or another corridor.

“I deserved that feast.” Loki says, his voice cold as Jotunheim’s weather.

“Loki, it was not my intent to-,” Thor sighs, but Loki cuts him off.

“We have wasted enough time, Thor, we should carry on ahead.”

“Loki,” Thor tries again, but Loki pays him no heed, galloping past Thor, leaving him no choice but to utter a curse and follow.

It does not take long for Thor to catch up with his brother. He stays silent, despite his growing frustration with Loki’s mercurial moods. As much as he tries, he cannot recall Loki being this difficult when they were growing up. Loki had always been quieter, more reserved, but always there, at his side, with a smirk on his lips and a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. So when did everything change? When has his younger brother’s smile grown sharp and mischief turned a darker shade? When has Loki started to use his word to cut, instead to tease?

“Asgard had waged war with Vanaheim in the past.” Thor says after his the noise inside his head become too loud, the scenery – green fields stretching seemingly forever – offering no distraction from his thoughts’ incessant buzzing, Loki’s silence gnawing at Thor’s composure.

“Asgard had waged wars with most of the realms.” Comes the even reply. But the look in Loki’s eyes is a strange mixture of concern and curiosity. “It is a good tactic, I must admit.” At Thor’s blank look, Loki sighs. “Wars are a display of power, among everything else. Wage one war, so you will not be forced to wage another. Provided, of course, that you sufficiently crush your enemy.”

Thor frowns, but he can tolerate Loki’s condescension far better than his stubborn silence. Even if he cares little for it. “You speak of it as it is another political maneuver.”

“It is, in a way, but Father would know more about it.” The twist of Loki’s lips resembles a smile, but it does not reach his eyes. “He had done it rather spectacularly with Jotunheim.”

“Jotunheim’s fate is well deserved one,” Thor says, his words coming out harsher than he intended. “Frost Giants are a race of cruel, savage monsters. Father had done a great service to all realms when he defeated them.”

“I am not arguing against Father’s methods, I’m simply pointing out the fact that ultimate goal of every war is peace.” Loki says, his face softening in an expression Thor, much to his chagrin, identifies as pity. As if Thor is truly a dimwitted fool Loki likes to see him as. Thor feels his temper flare, his hands tightening around the reins, but he refuses to give it voice. Loki, damn his eyes, sees right through Thor, a smirk ghosting over his lips. “As loved as you are, advocating needless spilling of Aesir blood in pursuit of greatness is an achievement that is beyond even your considerable talent, brother.”

“You make me sound a bloodthirsty savage, intent on war for its own sake.” Thor’s tone is clipped, his narrowed gate focused intently on Loki’s face.

“Are you not?” Loki says, his tone making an involuntary shiver trail across Thor’s spine, Thor’s already frayed control over his rising anger slipping with each softly spoken word that leaves Loki’s smiling lips. “Tell me, brother, how do you envision your rule? Sitting dully on the throne, or on a field of battle, that beloved hammer of yours in your hand, felling your enemies?”

Thor opens his mouth, but shuts it without saying a word, gritting his teeth.

“I thought so.”

Loki’s smug tone is what finally snaps the last thread of Thor’s control. With a growl, he directs his horse in front of Loki’s, his hand shooting out and snatching the reins from Loki’s grip.

“You seem to see everything so clearly, brother,” Thor growls, the look of dismay on Loki’s face giving him only a small measure of comfort. “Perhaps even the enormity of Father’s error in his choice of an heir?”

The words leave his lips in an angry rush, born in the dark place of Thor’s mind he visits rarely. Thor does not actually believe his words carry the weight of truth, but the look of startled surprise on his brother’s face leaves no doubt how true they are.

Thor blinks slowly, pulling away, the reins almost falling from his slack fingers. His anger leaves him in one shuddering exhale, shock, betrayal and _hurt_ filling his chest. Loki moves, catching the reins, his expression carefully blank, but Thor cannot help but notice that Loki avoids meeting his gaze.

“Thor, I…” Loki starts, but even his silver tongue apparently has limits.

Thor shakes his head, his lips thinning into a hard line. “How long, Loki?”

“Whatever it is you are thinking, know that you are mistaken.” Loki says flatly.

“So you have never wondered how it would be to rule Asgard?” Thor forces through clenched teeth. “Never wanted to be the one to succeed Father?”

Loki goes completely still, bowing his head. A small part of Thor warns him that the bond between him and Loki is already strained, anything could make it snap. But Thor is beyond caring, the bitterness of Loki’s perceived betrayal filling his blood with venom and clouding his thoughts.

Finally, after what seems like forever, Loki’s head rises slowly, almost as if Loki has no choice in the matter. “Throne is not something I desire, Thor. I would have, however, preferred to be at least considered as a potential ascendant.” Loki says, his eyes cold, hard. _Merciless_. Thor has seen this look in his brother’s eyes only once – lying on his back in the dirt, a cold, sharp edge of a dagger pressing against his neck. “But, no matter what Father has lead us to believe since we were children, I doubt he has given me even a passing thought when it came to deciding who is worthy of the throne.”

Their eyes remain locked for an eternity, or just a few breaths, Thor cannot be sure, two enemies instead of brothers, and Thor wants to say, or do, something to bridge the gap that has opened between them, but nothing occurs to him. So when Loki directs his horse around Thor’s, Thor allows it, and the rest of their voyage is spent in silence.

******

The smile on Freya’s face is dazzling, as is the rest of her appearance – long blond reaching a slim waist, a voluptuous figure even more accented by a simple white dress – and Thor is momentarily stunned, and at a loss for words. Asgardian women are not lacking in beauty, but there is an almost palpable aura of raw sensuality surrounding Freya, and Thor feels his blood growing heated.

Thor cannot say why, perhaps due to the force of habit, but he steals a glance to his right, his lips thinning into a hard line when he meets a knowing, amused glint in the green eyes of his younger brother. His perfectly composed younger brother.

“My Lord Thor,” Freya says, tilting her head as she crosses the space between them, drawing Thor’s attention away from Loki. “I have not seen your face since you were but a boy.” Her eyes take a long, slow, appreciative look of Thor, pausing briefly on his lips before meeting Thor’s gaze. “But now there is a man standing before me.”

Thor smiles widely and bows his head, taking Freya’s offered hand and bringing it to his lips. “A man who is but a slave to your beauty, my Lady.”

Freya laughs, a clear and amused sound. “Tales of the silver-tongued son of Odin have reached even us, but the tales named Loki, not Thor, as one whose words can charm even the dwarves to part with their precious treasures.”

Thor straightens, a frown ghosting over his features, but Freya’s eyes have moved away from him, focusing on Thor’s right, where Loki stands two steps behind Thor.

Thor blinks, dismayed, when Freya takes a step forward, her slim fingers wrapping around Thor’s, thus making Thor follow her, as she comes to stand in front of Loki.

Loki offers her a small smile, merely quirk of his lips, bowing before Freya in silence.

“So the tales were wrong then,” Freya says, rising her eyebrows in mock wonder. Thor clenches his jaw, glaring at the bowed black head. Whatever mischief is brewing inside Loki’s head in this moment, Thor cannot even attempt to divine, and it makes his already foul mood worsen still. “Since this shy, quiet young man cannot be the famed Silvertongue.”

“I fear your beauty has robbed me of words, my Lady,” Loki finally says, rising his head to meet Freya’s gaze, completely ignoring Thor’s narrowed gaze. “But it is a sacrifice I would bear gladly.”

“But what of me?” Freya asks. “What use would I have of such a sacrifice? Silent adoration ceased to amuse me centuries ago.”

“But there are other senses we can communicate with.” Loki says, his face perfectly innocent, but the look in his eyes… Thor grimaces, his chest feeling suddenly uncomfortably tight, but as much as he wants, he cannot draw his gaze of the unmasked lust in Loki’s clear eyes. It is not sight Thor is accustomed with, and it stirs something inside him, something almost possessive, but the strange feeling is gone almost in an instant, leaving Thor to fume silently, waiting for Loki to prove some illusive point, because Thor knows his unpredictable brother well enough to know that Loki is not the one to show such a blatant disregard to formal etiquette without it being a means to an end. “Taste is the one I particularly prefer.”

Thor’s eyebrows shoot upwards at the low, suggestive tone of Loki’s voice as he says the word ‘taste’. He opens his suddenly dry mouth, but no words come out. There is no need, because Freya’s soft, bright laughter breaks the almost stifling atmosphere in the wide, spacious hall that, mere seconds ago, to Thor seemed like it could barely hold his considerable bulk.

“It is a pleasure to finally meet you, young Loki,” Freya says, the trace of her laugher still caught in her words, and the glint of her gaze as she eyes Loki appreciatively. “I have to admit a certain… curiosity on my part after the colorful stories I have heard about the younger prince of Asgard.”

“And how does reality fare against expectation?” Loki says softly, a hint of a smirk dancing in the corner of his lips.

Freya offers her other hand to Loki, who takes it with a small incline of his head. “I am pleasantly surprised.” She admits, a note of something close to respect coloring her words, and Thor grits his teeth. It is not envy, not jealousy, that he feels, but the feeling rising from the pit of his stomach is dark and angry, and Thor

“Come now,” Freya says, still holding on to both Thor and Loki. “There is a small, private feast already prepared for you. I am exploiting my role of your hostess to keep you to myself for a day.” Freya smiles, soft and alluring, and Thor feels his foul mood vanish in the wake of that smile, but then he makes a mistake of looking over Freya’s head at Loki’s face, and the smug look Loki does not even bother to hide, makes Thor wish he could throttle his younger brother. In front of the watchful eyes of the guard and Freya’s handmaidens. “Can you see how jealous of me are my handmaidens in this moment?” 

Loki seems to read his thoughts with perfect clarity, his grin widening, and Thor swallows a frustrated growl. These will, undoubtedly, be the longest two weeks of his life.

******

After the short feast, which Thor had mostly spent glaring over his cup at Loki, they were showed to their chambers.

Thor has centuries of rigorous training behind himself, his body steeled through hours and hours of physical exertion, and even if he is a prince of Asgard, he is no stranger to sleeping on bare ground. In no way should few hours of riding come even close to exhausting him, especially with his temper still not close to calming, his mind full of pictures of Loki’s smiles, his soft, honeyed voice still echoing inside Thor’s mind. And it is not like he can even accuse Loki of acting improper or disrespectful, or trying to impose himself over Thor. Maybe it is simply that Thor cannot last remember when he saw Loki so relaxed and at ease. So _happy_.

With a low growl, Thor rips his cape off his shoulders, almost tearing it in his frustration. He starts pacing, his hands itching to crush something, to feel that satisfying crunch underneath his fingers. His eyes, almost of their own volition, are drawn to the door that separates his chamber from his brother’s, even if his mind cannot supplement a reason for what his instincts are demanding of him.

He takes a step toward the door, but stops himself in time. Instead he turns on his heel, and, taking off pieces of his armour as he goes, he enters the small bathing chamber, both relieved and disappointed that Loki is not here already.

The water in the round pool is filled with warm water, and the effect it has on him is immediate. Thor almost suspects the water has magical properties, as it takes away all his tension, relaxing, not only his body, but calming his mind.

Thor sighs in content, leaning his back on the marble edge of the pool. The pool is not deep, the water rising to his chest when he sits, but is fairly large, and it could easily welcome another person.

Thor is not usually in the habit of taking long baths. At least not when he is alone, but he means to allow himself a few moment of blissful rest. Rest, Thor feels is long overdue after today. He had such high hopes for this day, envisioning himself and Loki sharing thoughts and jesting like in the old days, mending their stained relationship. And, as it seems, their voyage here had only worsened it.

Thor is not one to deal with inner turmoil in any way but confronting the source of it. If it more often than not ends in violence, well… it is what he was born for. He cannot remember the time when there had not been a weapon of some sort, if a wooden branch can count as one, in his hand, all his dreams colored red and filled with battle cries.

But now, with Loki so often being the source of his anger, Thor finds himself in a situation where his usual method of resolving conflict fails him completely, and the one who he usually turns for counsel is unavailable to him.

It is a vicious circle, and Thor wishes to be free of it, if only for a moment, so when he feels his eyelids closing, he does not resist, drifting off to slumber.

******

_He is stumbling through a blizzard, harsh wind biting at the skin of his face, the snow thick enough to obscure his vision almost completely. He cannot tell where he is, aware only of the incessant need to go forward, even when the scenery changes abruptly, from a snow covered plain to a hill._

_The climb is difficult, his lungs burning with the lack of oxygen, his hands bloody from grasping at the sharp rocks, but no matter how many times he stumbles and falls to his knees, he rises every time, the drive to move, to find that elusive something, stronger than any storm, disregarding physical pain._

_The scenery changes again, abruptly, his knees giving out on him, and he falls on his hands and knees in the snow._

_He stays like that for a moment, taking deep, gasping breaths, until he hears something, a whisper that he should not be able to hear above the howling of the wind._

_“Thor.”_

_He slowly lifts his head, his breath freezing in his throat when his gaze lands on a tall figure silhouetted against the grey sky, standing only a few steps away from him._

_He cannot see his face, nor does he recognize the rugged, plain attire he is wearing underneath a long, black cape that is billowing in the wind, but Thor knows his brother. If he were blind and deaf, he would still recognize the one who holds so much of his heart in his crafty hands._

_“Loki,” Thor rasps, his heart stuttering against his chest. Loki does not see it, cannot see it, but Thor does – endless, gaping abyss only a step behind Loki. He tries to get back up on his feet, but his body is refusing to obey, frozen in horror. “Loki.” Thor tries again, but the warning he tries to give, comes out in the shape of a broken sound of his brother’s name._

_Loki laughs, strange, ugly sound. “Too late, Thor.”_

_Thor’s eyes widen, his mouth opening around a silent scream, and still cannot move, can only watch helplessly as Loki takes a step back, and, for a long moment, Loki seems almost suspended in the air, and then, just like that, he is gone._

_Thor stares at the spot where Loki stood, life and will returning to his body, but it is too late, too late to do anything but scream…_

“Thor… _Thor_ , calm yourself!”

The scream still echoing in his ears, his heart beating wildly, Thor snaps his eyes open. With his mind still caught in the terror of his dream, he does not think, _cannot_ think, he can only react. Ignoring the voice calling out his name, he grips the hands wrapped around his shoulders and _pulls_.

He hears a gasp of surprise, then a splash as the body hits the water, followed by a pained grunt as Thor slams his attacker against the edge of the pool, trapping it between the cool stone and his own body.

Harsh breathing is the only sound in the otherwise absolute silence, the haze of his dream slowly lifting from Thor’s mind, clearing his vision, and he slowly becomes aware that the wiry, hard body against his is still clothed, and there is something familiar in the green, torn fabric he is desperately clutching in his grip.

Slowly, almost against his will, Thor’s gaze travels up the expanse of a pale, lean chest, rising and falling with rapid breaths, pass the long neck and strong jaw, pausing briefly on the lips pressed tightly together, before meeting the murderous look of a pair of green eyes.

_Loki._

For just one second – and what is one second, really, not even one drop in the ocean of time – Thor is overcome with the almost irresistible urge to tilt his head and lick the drop of water that is slowly sliding down Loki’s jaw. Mesmerized by its slow descent, Thor leans a little, his entire world narrowing down to that small drop of liquid. Before he has a chance to lean close enough to touch Loki’s skin, he is suddenly flying in the opposite direction, pushed by an invisible force, his back colliding painfully with the stone.

“Norns take you, Loki!” Thor curses, his vision swimming from the force of the blow, his momentary insanity extinguished like a candle in the wind. “What has gotten into you?”

“What has gotten into _me _?” Loki sputters, dragging himself out of the pool, and he sounds nothing like his usual composed self, his voice high, bordering on hysterical.__

__Nor does he look like it. When Thor’s vision stops swimming, he takes a long look of his brother – water dripping from his clothes, the ends of his torn shirt clinging to his body, his hair sticking to his face, and the expression on his face… one that is equal parts shock, outrage and mortification is something he cannot recall seeing on Loki’s face. And it is priceless._ _

__Thor blinks slowly, his dream and what has happened seconds ago, slipping to the back of his mind, and all that is true, all that matters, is the feeling of absolute joy that is threatening to break Thor’s chest at the sight his real, alive, and quite humiliated brother, is presenting._ _

__“You look like a particularly ill-willed cat, brother.” Thor says, trying to keep himself from bursting into laughter. “A drowned one, at that.”_ _

__He fails in his efforts. _Spectacularly.__ _

__Long after the last of Loki’s curses die down, and the doors to the bath chamber stop shaking from the way Loki slams them after himself, Thor still cannot stop laughing._ _

__Maybe there is some hope for the next two weeks not to be a complete disaster._ _

__******_ _

__Thor is having the best of times._ _

__His grin widens behind his cup, and he inclines his head in a small bow, returning the look of the raven-haired beauty sitting at the very end of the table. She does not look away, holding his gaze teasingly, her lips forming only a hint of a smile. Warmth flutters in the pit of Thor’s belly, and he takes a long sip of the wine. Thor cannot remember seeing her yesterday, and he also cannot recall her name, having lost patience after half a dozen names Freya supplied them with, counting on Loki to remember the important ones. But how did such a beauty managed to slip his notice he is not sure, but that is a mistake he means to rectify as soon as possible. With one last glance at his nameless Lady, Thor allows his eyes to travel along the length of the long table, his gaze glancing each of the faces only briefly._ _

__The company at Freya’s table includes only a handful of those serving in Freya’s household, all nobility in their right, but considering who Thor and Loki are, this could be called almost intimate gathering. According to their hostess, though, this will not be a common occurrence – _“Alas, tonight I will have to formally announce your presence. And that means I will have to share you with the entire Vanaheim’s nobility.”_ Thor is delighted with the prospect of being presented as the heir to the throne of Asgard before all of Vanaheim._ _

__His eyes stop when he catches Loki’s gaze from across the table, and for split second, the look in Loki’s eyes is strangely unguarded, but the look is gone almost immediately, the mask of amused disinterest already in place, as Loki looks away, turning his attention to the shy blonde that has been sneaking glances at Loki the entire time. Thor feels a wave of sympathy for the maiden, she may be beautiful, but as discreet as Loki has been in his conquests, Thor has seen enough to know that meek and shy are not what Loki seeks from his lovers._ _

__Thor cannot hear Loki’s question, but the blonde looks like a small bird, caught in the talons of a hawk, eyes wide and startled, looking like she is considering fleeing the table. Thor sees a flash of annoyance cross Loki’s features, masked quickly by a polite smile, and Thor suddenly realizes that their roles from yesterday have been reversed. As he feels his blood sing with the possibilities this realm offers for a young man, Loki does not seem to be enjoying himself as much as he did yesterday. Loki does not show it, but Thor, no matter Loki’s thoughts on the subject, _knows_ his brother, he can see the slight tension in his shoulders, his smile not as sure or easy as it usually is. It almost makes Thor burst into laughter. It cannot be that Loki still bears the ill will from what has happened in the baths. Surely even Loki with his infuriating capability to guard the slights as if they are the greatest of treasure, would see that what has happened last night had not been Thor’s intent, but a mere accident?_ _

__Caught up in his thoughts, the memory of Loki – wet and infuriated – from previous night sending a pleasant wave of warmth through Thor’s chest, Thor misses Freya’s words._ _

__Tearing his gaze from Loki, still trying to encourage the blonde into a conversation, Thor smiles apologetically. “I must apologize, my Lady, my thoughts have been elsewhere.” His smile widens, turning suggestive. “A grave offence for which I am fully prepared to suffer the consequences.”_ _

__Freya’s laughter is melodic, her smile as dazzling as he remembers from yesterday. “A bold offer, my young Lord. How can you be sure I will not exploit it?”_ _

__Reaching out, Thor takes her right hand and slowly brigs it to his lips, never breaking eye contact. It is a gesture unfitting a public feast, no matter how small, but Thor feels bold and careless, his pent up energy seeking an outlet. “I trust no punishment coming from this hands can make me regret giving my word.”_ _

__Freya regards him one long moment before she gently extracts he hand out of Thor’s hold. “As much as I might be tempted to prove you wrong, Thor,” she sounds almost wistful, but then her smile twists minutely, and the momentary look of regret disappears from her face. Thor’s smile thins, his good mood subsiding considerably. If Freya sees his disappointment, she ignores it. She merely inclines her head in the direction of the dark beauty at the end of the table. “But I feel your offence is less grave in the light of your youth. I still remember how poor my attentiveness had been whenever my eyes caught sight of something beautiful.”_ _

__“You are hardly old, my Lady, to be referring to youth as something no more than a memory.”_ _

__“But it is only a memory, colorful and warm, but a memory still. One day, you will understand my words, but that day is far away.” Freya says, quirking her eyebrow, and Thor feels himself relaxing again, the sting of her rejection dissipating. “Very far away, if it is judging by how you feel you have no need for an armed guard as you travel through a foreign realm so often plagued by attacks from marauders.”_ _

__Thor almost bursts into laughter. “If you were a man, my Lady, it would be a matter of honor to prove to you how insignificant a threat a band of marauders would be.”_ _

__“The tales of your deeds have long since reached these lands, Thunderer,” Freya says, but her captivating smile does not reach her eyes. Thor may not be skilled in matters of diplomacy, but he’s long since learned to trust his instincts, and now they are warning him to be careful. He straightens in his seat, his smile waning a fraction. He did not expect to have to engage in the matters of politics as early, or in such an informal surroundings. _Perhaps, that is what Freya is counting on_ , Thor almost smiles at that thought. At how similar to Loki’s that inner voice of warning always sounds. “But every delegacy tends to bring at least a token show of their might.”_ _

__Thor smiles, biding his time as he thinks of his response, his eyes flicking over to Loki who has finally managed to draw the blonde into a conversation._ _

__Swallowing a frustrated sigh, Thor feels a flash of annoyance at that, but, as he opens his mouth to respond, a memory comes unbidden to him._ _

___Loki’s pale face is flushed, two small red spots forming on his cheeks, and Thor tries to hide his grin behind his mug, still half-full of mead._ _ _

___“…. and they had listened. Can you imagine that?”_ _ _

___Thor clenches his jaw in a last desperate effort to keep appearing serious, but the wide-eyed excitement in Loki’s green eyes, the way his back keeps slipping lower and lower from where he is leaning against Thor’s bed as he gestures wildly, his mug lying down on the floor, forgotten, knocked down for some time now, is making it almost impossible._ _ _

___Thor snorts into his mead, careful not to drink too much. He wants to stay sober, not willing to risk missing a moment of such a rare occurrence. Loki is drunk, possibly for the first time, and, of all things, he insists discussing diplomacy. Thor cannot decide whether to enjoy the spectacle or regret the loss of a unique opportunity to have Loki do – or say – something that would give Thor leverage against Loki the next time Loki decides to publicly embarrass him._ _ _

___“I cannot tell, brother. You were there, not I.”_ _ _

___“But you don’t understand.” Loki says fiercely, his eyes focused on Thor’s face. And then, apparently deciding that Thor is not taking his words seriously enough, he begins to crawl toward Thor. The sight of Loki on his hands and knees, swaying slowly toward him, almost makes Thor drop his mug, but somehow, the sight is not nearly laughable as it should be. Thor manages to set the mug aside before his brother reaches him, taking his face firmly between his hands, pulling it forward. For a reason he cannot explain to himself, Thor goes with it, his own head, no matter how little mead he has drunk, feeling light and hazy. Their faces almost touch, and Thor can smell mead on Loki’s breath, and, somehow, this entire situation is less and less humorous, turning into something Thor cannot define. Loki’s green eyes look almost feverish up this close – dark and glinting with conviction – and Thor feels a strange tightening in the middle of his chest. “Nothing had been said. Empty, meaningless phrases. It seems that there is no special skill needed… you only need to talk without actually saying anything.”_ _ _

___Thor swallows, his throat suddenly dry, and since when had Loki’s eyes been this shade of green?_ _ _

___A scowl appears on Loki’s face, his hands moving from Thor’s cheeks to his hair, pulling on it viciously._ _ _

___And just like that, the moment is broken._ _ _

___“You little beast,” Thor growls, glaring at Loki, who bursts into laughter, then loses his balance and falls flat on his face. It takes some time for Thor – after he stops laughing – to realize that Loki will not be getting up any time soon._ _ _

__A smile ghosts over Thor’s lips at the memory. It had been the first time Loki had been drunk. And it had taken Loki a month to forgive Thor for it. Not that Thor forced the mead down Loki’s throat, he merely supplied it._ _

__Freya’s raised eyebrows and the expectant look in her eyes snap Thor’s attention back to the present. So, talking without actually saying anything? How hard could that be?_ _

__“Perhaps if Vanaheim were a hostile realm, or under a different rule, but then it would have be the All-Father, not I, sitting here.” Thor says, smiling widely. The smile on Freya’s lips falters momentarily, a small crease appearing on her forehead. Thor takes it as a good sign. “And, with my brother at my side, I would brave the wilderness of Jotunheim. A road in Vanaheim is hardly what one would call dangerous.”_ _

__Freya’s eyes flick over to Loki, and then back a Thor. “The bond between you is strong.”_ _

__“He is my brother.” Thor says simply, as if it explains everything. To him, it does._ _

__It seems it also does for his hostess because a look of longing passes across her features, making Thor aware that her talk of youth being a colorful memory holds more truth than he had previously thought. “The bond between siblings is perhaps the strongest one. Except that between mother and her children.”_ _

__A trace of longing clings to her words, jogging Thor’s memory. Of course, Freyr. Even Thor is no stranger to tales of the love between the Vanir’s blonde children. There had even been hushed talks of just how strong the bond is between the brother and sister. “Your brother is away? It would be an honor to meet the warrior of his reputation.”_ _

__A bitter smile twists Freya’s lips. “It is difficult to anchor a man who carries a ship in his pocket, and that ship can always take him to wherever he desires.” She says, and Thor does not miss her slender hand clenching into a fist. She notices Thor’s look, unclenching it immediately. When she smiles this time, there is no trace of bitterness or longing in it. “Recently, he has developed a taste for colder climate.”_ _

__Once again, Thor wishes Loki is here to be a part of the conversation, because even if he can venture a guess as to what she is implying, he is not willing to risk angering Freya, cursing his own lack of interest in the court’s gossip back on Asgard. But how, in Hel’s name, could he have had known it would be of use to him?_ _

__“And what of your husband?” Thor says instead. “Will he be joining us?”_ _

__Freya’s lips twist into ironic smile. “My husband is even more elusive than my brother. His paths so often lead him away from my hall.” She regards Thor with unreadable eyes one long moment. Thor meets her gaze openly, but there is an unusual flicker of uncertainty in the back of his mind. Then her expression softens, and the moment is broken. “Enjoy your freedom while you still have the luxury, son of Odin.”_ _

__Thor smiles, his smile a little too thin, but he inclines his head in a small nod of gratitude. The conversation is over, that much is obvious. It will be continued, also obvious. But his first real test is over, accomplished without Loki’s aid, and that makes Thor’s face split into a toothy grin, his eyes instinctively flicking over to Loki, but his gaze gets caught on a face he had not seen earlier._ _

__Thor blinks, frowning. His face is pale, his features sharp and delicate at the same time, long blond hair falling freely down his narrow face, his grey eyes half-obscured by long lashes. An elf. Thor has not met one in long time, but he knows that Freya is particularly fond of them, so it should not be so strange to see one at her able._ _

__Thor tries to look away, but the look of intense concentration in the elf’s eyes stops Thor. He follows the elf’s gaze, curious to see what holds his attention so firmly, his frown deepening when his eyes land on the familiar dark head, tilted to one side, the man deeply engrossed in a conversation with a blonde maiden, oblivious to two pair of eyes watching him intently._ _

___Loki._

Thor draws his eyes away from his brother, his narrowed gaze settling on the elf’s face, but the elf does not shift his attention from Loki, his eyes staring unblinkingly at Thor’s brother. Something dark and angry twists deep inside Thor’s chest. The rapt attention in the elf’s eyes is bordering on indecent, and Thor has to clench his jaw tightly to stop a growl that threatens to leave his throat. How dare he look upon a prince of Asgard with such thinly masked hunger?

The elf either cares little for the murderous glare Thor is sending his way, or he sees nothing save Loki, but either way, his eyes stay fixed on Loki’s face, and Thor becomes aware of his tightly clenched fist only when he feels a sharp jolt of pain in his right hand.

Reluctantly, he looks away from the elf, a flicker of surprise passing over his features as he stares in wonder at the tiny red spots of blood blooming from where his nails have pierced the skin of his palm.

Grimacing, Thor takes a napkin from the table, discretely wiping the blood away. When he is done, his eyes immediately seek out the brazen elf, only to find the seat he was occupying only moments ago empty.

A strange flare of panic grips his heart, and he throws a bewildered glance at Loki, who is sitting across the table, still deep in conversation with his blonde Lady.

It takes Thor an inordinate amount of time to relax again. It takes him a lot less to become aware that his good mood is irrevocably ruined. And he cannot even tell why.

******

Thor catches up to Loki by the massive doors leading to a small labyrinth of corridors leading to different wings of Sessrúmnir. He almost does not make it, as he, in his hurry to reach his brother, nearly collides with the dark beauty he had been exchanging glances during breakfast.

“The manners in Asgard must not be what I have heard of them, if this is the way the Crown Prince is behaving.” She says, her eyes – dark blue, even more impressive when clouded with irritation at Thor’s hastily offered apology – almost challenging Thor. “This is not a field of battle, for you to be charging across it so blindly.”

Thor feels his lips quirk in amusement. Spirit and beauty, a perfect combination. And the surest way to brighten his mood.

“Then I have a duty to Asgard to prove that we do possess far better manners than those you have, to my utmost regret, seen me display.” Thor says, a wide smile stretching his lips as he bows deeply, his lips grazing the knuckles of her right hand.

“And how do you propose to do that?”

Thor holds her hand on his own a moment too long, his smile turning suggestive. “If you allow me a pleasure of your company at tonight’s feast, I will show you.”

“My Lord is most gracious.” She says formally, extracting her hand out of Thor’s, but her eyes are telling a different tale. Thor’s smile turns into a smirk. “My Lord is also a guest of honor of tonight’s fest. It would hardly be proper for me to impose myself.”

“Just say the word, my Lady, and I will make the time for you.”

“Brenna, my Lord. My name is Brenna.” She says softly, a knowing smile playing on her lips. Thor’s smirk turns sheepish for a brief moment. He should pay more attention when “Until tonight, my Lord Thor.”

And then, with a formal bow, even if there is nothing formal about the alluring glint in her eyes, she is gone.

Thor stands rooted to the spot, watching her leave, almost forgetting what had been his intent when he almost run into her, but then a flash of green catches his eyes, and he remembers.

_Loki._

Hastening his steps, Thor almost breaks into a run, his fingers wrapping around Loki’s wrist, halting him. “Brother, I would speak with you.”

Loki throws him a murderous glare, but there are people around them, and out of the two, Loki has always been the one to care more about keeping up appearances. Something Thor is more than willing to use to his advantage.

Loki smiles, but it is a false smile. Loki does not even bother to hide the annoyance in his eyes. Thor does not really care how annoyed Loki is. As long as Loki _listens_.

“Could this not wait, Thor?” Loki says, pleasantly, but the look in his yes is anything but. “I have made arrangements.” He inclines his head to an elderly man, standing step to the side, looking decidedly uncomfortable.

Thor swallows an impatient growl, nodding curtly at the man’s bow. “Then I will come with you, until you are done.”

Loki’s eyes narrow into slits, his voice dropping dangerously low. “I am sure everyone would be delighted to have you there, but your snoring would eventually stop being entertaining.”

Thor narrows his eyes, but he will be damned if he allows Loki to anger him into distraction. “Then I will endeavor to remain awake, brother.”

They stay silent, glaring at each other. Loki is the one to concede defeat. “We will discuss magic, Thor, and I cannot tell how long it will last.” Loki says, sighing. “Is this really as urgent as you claim?”

Thor presses his lips together. It is hardly a matter of life and death, but he wants to come to an understanding with Loki. The strain in their relationship is a burden he has no desire to carry needlessly. He has been carrying it long enough. He _could_ insist. He is fairly sure Loki would agree eventually. If only to prevent a scene. Afterwards… well, Thor would pay dearly.

“It can wait.” Thor says finally, resigned.

“Come meet me in my chamber after the feast, and we will speak then.” Loki says, the warning in his eyes losing much of its edge, but not all of it. He would not be Loki if it did.

Thor nods. Loki rises his eyebrows, taking a pointed look at where Thor still holds on to Loki’s wrist. Thor frowns, and for one moment, he wants to simply tug at Loki’s hand, drag him somewhere private, and not let him go until they have put an end to this war they are waging recently.

“Thor?”

Loki’s voice, holding only a hint of annoyance, draws Thor back. He is far from being a patient man, but forcing Loki to anything can only end in a disaster. So he steps back, releasing his hold on Loki.

“Enjoy yourself, brother.” Thor says, earnestly. Loki looks taken aback for a second. Almost like he cannot believe Thor actually means the words to be true. Or that he possesses manners. “I will see you later then.”

Loki throws him another suspicious look, searching Thor’s face, but then Loki’s companion coughs discretely, and in an instant, Loki’s expression flickers, changing into a perfectly composed mask, a wide smile on his lips.

Thor swallows a snort – his brother, the great illusionist – but the usual warmth that thought brings forth this time comes accompanied by a pang of bitterness. Does anyone have a chance to actually see underneath the illusion? Does _Thor_?

“Until later, brother.” Loki says, turning to his companion, smiling apologetically. “I must apologize for my brother, but he…”

Thor shakes his head, Loki’s last words ringing familiar. How many times has he heard Loki say them? Even when he had been the reason behind Thor’s transgressions. Taking one last look at his brother’s retreating back, Thor turns on his heel, stalking in the opposite direction.

******

Thor is not sure how long he had been riding. At one point he’d stopped paying attention to where he is going, simply allowing the horse to choose a path.

The scenery in Vanaheim is nothing like Asgard, fields, meadows and forests instead of cluster of buildings, striving toward the sky. Asgard is nothing short of magnificent, its splendor evident in every little detail, befitting the Realm Eternal – grand, regal, radiating an aura of wealth, pride and superiority. Vanaheim’s beauty is of different nature, but no less appealing – the very land is brimming with life, and there is something wild, free, almost sensual about it.

Thor shakes his head at the unusual train of thought his mind has taken. And it is not that he does not appreciate beauty, he does, in all its forms, but it usually makes his blood run hot, filling him with exuberance, not making him feel wistful.

A small chuckle escapes his lips. His friends and Loki, especially Loki, would never think him prone to bouts of melancholy. And he is not. But, and it is difficult to admit it, even in the privacy of his mind, with no one around, he… Thor would not say that he is afraid, he feels fear as anyone else, only a fool would not, but he never wastes time and energy worrying about what is yet to come. And yet, ever since his father declared his heir, he’s been plagued by doubts.

Since they were little boys, both he and Loki have known that only one can inherit the throne. As they grew from boys into manhood, Thor became more and more confident that he will be the one to ascend to the throne. He loves Loki, it is a truth no one could ever doubt, the love he holds for his younger brother much a part of him as his flesh and bones are. There is another truth, but Thor loathes to face it, even now, when it does not matter anymore.

They are brothers, but each passing year moulded them into two completely different souls. Loki showed more interest in magic and avoiding conflict, while Thor lived and breathed for battle, for conflict, never more alive than with on a field of battle, with Mjölnir in his hand and bloodlust singing in his blood. Like a true future king should. 

Thor grimaces, pushing those thought away. It is done, Odin had made his decision, and past should stay where it belongs – in the past. Leaning forward, he pats the horse on the head, tightening the reins, and when he looks up, finally taking notice of his surroundings, his eyes widen in awe.

“My friend, you deserve a meal fit for a king.” Thor says, as he dismounts, his eyes fixed on the sight in front of him.

His horse, it seems, have taken them further away from the road than Thor had been aware. A while ago, Thor, following a sudden impulse, had directed his horse on winding path, branching from the main road. It lead through a meadow, but Thor could see a hint of green in the distance, a small forest, by the looks of it. And now he is standing in the middle of a clearing, without clear recollection of entering the forest, but overjoyed that he did, because the sight in front of him is one of the most beautiful he has ever seen.

A lake, surrounded by a green carpet of grass, wild flowers he has never seen – dark red, almost black at certain angle – growing in thick bushes in almost perfect circle around the lake, leaving only a small opening that, by chance or not, leads to the path that has taken Thor here.

Leaving the horse, Thor, almost as if in a dream, walks over to the lake. The water looks crystal clear, the sun making its cam surface glittering like jewels. Following an impulse, Thor takes a handful of water, bringing it to his lips. He closes his eyes, swallowing the water greedily as if it is the sweetest mead. Perhaps it is even better, because Thor can feel his heart calming, his weariness dissipating.

When he opens his eyes, his gaze lands on his reflection on the lake’s surface. The face of the future king of Asgard. A handsome face, many have said, but what of his heart? Of his mind? Is he truly ready? Is he worthy?

His hand instinctively reaches after Mjölnir, its familiar weight settled comfortably on his belt, and he takes another look of his reflection, sees it break into a smile.

As he mounts his horse, Thor vows to himself that he will not leave Vanaheim without once again coming to this place. And he will have Loki accompany him.

******

Thor almost forgets that Loki is expecting him.

His head is buzzing pleasantly from the wine he has had at dinner. And even more so from the thrill of having the entire nobility of Vanaheim bow low before him. He feels like he had won a grand victory on a field of battle, his blood thrumming with joy. 

Thor had not expected a spectacle. It was his first official appearance as the future king of Asgard, that much he had known. But, at the start of the feast, Freya got up from her seat and bowed low before him, and one by one, so had the other attendants of the feast. In mere moments, Thor had found himself the only one standing upright among the sea of bowed heads.

The feeling had been intoxicating, Thor is not ashamed to admit that. But, as he had been standing there, his eyes travelling over the heads bowed in respect and acknowledgement of Asgard’s supremacy, he had come to a sudden realization. All those lives are to be his to protect in the future, a heavy weight to be placed on anyone shoulders, but in that moment he had looked inside his heart and found not even a shadow of a doubt.

After that, the feast went on as feast tend to do, with much wine, gossip and shared glances across the table.

The last one being the main reason why all thoughts of his impending talk with his brother – who had excused himself rather early from the feast – all but fled from his thoughts. Thor had searched for his lovely Lady during dinner, but found her only later, when guest have already started to excuse themselves, the atmosphere much less formal, the laughter louder and gazes of appreciation much less subtle.

Even if the lovely Brenna still held him at a distance, Thor held no doubts about with whom he’d be spending the rest of the night if only he had not insisted on talking with Loki after the feast. And he had been tempted. Sorely tempted to find the most satisfying outlet for the excitement buzzing through him, making his skin seem almost electrified.

But he had not. He had left the lovely Brenna with a chaste kiss on the palm of her hand, and an unspoken promise of the next time. And there will be a next time before his visit to this magnificent realm comes to an end.

But right now, his pent up energy still seeking an outlet, he finds himself hurrying his steps, already imagining the displeasure he will see on Loki’s face when he arrives, considering it had been Thor who insisted on this meeting.

Thor does not bother knocking, simply enters his brother’s chamber. When he crosses the threshold he feels something, like an inquiring touch of invisible hands, which disappears almost immediately.

An involuntary shiver shakes his body, making his face contort into a grimace. He knows Loki is cautious, but what is the need for protective wards in such a peaceful place? Although, it is a comfort to know Loki is not cross with him enough to bar Thor from his chamber. Something he had done on several occasions back home.

“Brother, I have… _what is that foul stench_?”

Loki does not look up from the row of tiny glass bottles aligned in front of him, covering almost the entire surface of the desk. “I have been almost sure you would not show.” His voice holds not even a tiny trace of annoyance or venom, sounding almost distant. Thor supposes that whatever he is doing, requires his utmost concentration. “I am surprised you have managed to tear yourself away from your dark beauty. I know how you get after you indulge in too much wine. Not to mention you must be in quite the mood after the spectacle our dear hostess had provided you with.”

Well, now he can hear the venom in Loki’s voice, even if Loki still keeps his attention fixed firmly on his task.

“I am capable of restraint, Loki.” Thor says, closing the door. Even if he is tempted to keep them open, considering the awful smell coming from Loki’s bottles.

Loki snorts, pausing for a second in adding something green into one of the bottles. “Perhaps, but not when you are half-hard just from the sheer adoration of an entire realm.”

“I am here, am I not?” Thor says. He takes a step toward the table, but stops. He is far from squeamish, but this smell is atrocious. “Honestly, Loki, what is that? It smells worse than entrails of a dead bilgesnipe.”

Loki finally rises his head from his work, a look of annoyance crossing his features. “You are worse than a maiden, but here. To protect your sensitive sense of scent.” Loki sighs in exasperation, making a small wave with his hand, and, just like that, the smell is gone. “Satisfied?”

“Immensely. But if you could have done it from the start, why inflict that smell on yourself in the first place?”

A brief smile crosses Loki’s features, and Thor’s eyes narrow. “You _have_ done it already.” Thor says, tersely. “This was all for me.”

“Why would I do such a thing to my brother?” Loki asks, all innocence and false softness.

Thor glares at him one moment, but then he chuckles, shaking his head. “This has been a grand day, and not even that smell could darken my mood.” Thor says, striding over to where Loki sits. “Or your tricks, brother.”

Loki’s gaze flicks over to him. “I could have let you suffer longer.” He points out, and Thor’s face breaks into a grin. “Perhaps I _should_ have.” He adds quieter.

Frowning, Thor reaches after one of the bottles, this one containing a thick, black liquid, but he is stopped by a firm grip around his wrist. He sometimes forgets how strong and fast Loki is, even though Thor could easily break Loki’s hold if he so chooses. “Don’t.” Loki warns. “If you break or spill anything, I would have to gather additional supplies, and I would rather not.”

“I am capable of a gentle touch, brother.” Thor says in a low voice, winking at his brother. He means it to be a jest, but Loki’s eyes widen, an almost guilty looking expression ghosting over his features. He lets go of Thor’s wrist as if burned, his gaze turning back to his work, almost as if Loki does not dare meet Thor’s eyes. Thor frowns, perturbed. “Loki?” He asks, confused at this sudden change in the air between them. And, for a moment, everything was like it had been.

“You asked to speak with me, Thor.” Loki says finally, his voice blank, once again caught up in his task. “So speak.”

Thor blinks, suddenly undecided. Now, when he looks back, he cannot recall doing anything that would warrant an apology. They have done far worse to each other while sparring. And then there is always that last time. “About what happened yesterday…” Thor says finally, shaking off the memories of cold steel against his neck, almost missing slight tensing of Loki’ shoulders and brief faltering in the steady move of his hands as he pours the contents from one bottle to the other.

“And just what do you think happened yesterday?” Loki interrupts him, his voice tense.

“I threw you into a pool, but it had not been my intention,” Thor says slowly, carefully choosing his words. Annoyance Thor would understand, or anger, or mocking him for behaving like a brute, but feigning ignorance? That makes little sense, especially in the light of Thor’s attempt at an apology. “You woke me from a…” Thor’s voice falters, his throat suddenly dry. A dream? Or a nightmare? “I acted on instinct.”

Loki slowly puts away the bottles, his shoulders relaxing as he finally rises his eyes to meet Thor’s. “You were screaming when I came.” Loki says, and there is nothing but curiosity in his eyes now. “What could you have dreamt of to warrant such a reaction?”

Thor opens his mouth to reply, but no words come out. In fact, there are none to be said because he does not remember the details. Only a sense of searing pain, tearing his chest in two. The sensation he’d forgotten in the excitement of today’s events, but now, Thor can recall it with perfect clarity.

“I do not know,” Thor says in a low voice, and is rewarded by a suspicious look from Loki. He presses his lips together in exasperation. “It had been a dream, Loki. Do you recall every single one of your dreams?” Tilting his head, he grimaces. “And why is it even important to you?”

Thor does not really expect an answer. Not an honest one, at least. So it takes him by surprise when he receives one.

“You never used to have nightmares when we were children,” Loki whispers, his lips curved into a half-smile that holds little joy. “Unlike myself.”

Thor feels his own lips stretch into a fond smile as a surge of memories floods his mind. His younger brother, his pale skin almost grey, his green eyes wide with fear as he pleads silently with Thor to let him inside his bed. Thor never said no. Never even considered it for a second. Loki was his younger brother and it was his duty to make the monsters flee from his brother’s mind. Loki was _his_ to guard. Ever since the green eyed baby first stretched his chubby hands toward Thor. “You feared monsters will take you away.”

Loki’s lips twitch. “And you swore to smite every single one that dares to try.” He says softly. His eyes are, for once, open and warm, and Thor can easily see his baby brother in the mischievous and contrary man in front of him. “Even then playing the hero. Staying awake to guard my dreams.”

“And then you learned to conjure magical light and you never came to me again.” Even after all this time, Thor can recall the disappointment he’d felt after Loki stopped coming to him in the middle of the night, seeking comfort and refuge.

“I could not cling to my big brother forever. It would hardly be dignified or fit for a son of Odin.”

 _I would not have minded, I enjoyed having you come to me_ , Thor wants to say. There was an immense sense of rightness in lying next to Loki’s smaller form, knowing Loki is slumbering peacefully only because of _Thor_. He swallows the words, though. Just barely. “And yesterday you returned the favor, and I treated you most poorly for that.” He says instead. Grinning, because he simply cannot stop himself, he adds. “But you should have seen your face, brother.”

Loki’s eyes narrow slightly, but the smile on his face holds a promise of mischief, not vengeance. “Perhaps I will have the pleasure of seeing it on your face, brother.”

Thor’s grin widens. It is a challenge, and if there is one thing Thor is weak at, that is refusing a challenge. “Perhaps, brother. But who knows what the future holds?”

Loki holds his gaze one long moment, before rolling his eyes in exasperation and returning to his task.

Thor frowns, his gaze flicking from Loki’s bowed head to the door that leads to their joined bath chamber. He should get some rest, there are dozens of tedious meetings he will be forced to attend tomorrow, but he is unwilling to leave just yet. His blood still thrums with excitement, but, more importantly, he feels that they have built a narrow bridge over the chasm that was growing between him and Loki. And he wants to take the advantage of it. He had missed his brother.

Flopping down on the chair opposite to Loki, Thor settles himself comfortably. He stays silent for a moment, his eyes caught on the sight of Loki’s slender hands handling the bottles with graceful delicacy and care. Thor would never have enough patience for such a task. The glass would probably shatter in his hands in less than a few heartbeats.

“What are you preparing?” Thor asks finally, growing bored with watching Loki work in absolute silence. 

Loki looks up, almost as if he’d forgotten Thor is still there. “A gift for you.”

Thor narrows his eyes suspiciously at the bubbling liquid that changes color every time Loki adds something new to it. Currently it is colored a garish shade of yellow. “And what should I do with it?” Thor asks slowly, even though he has a strong suspicion he will most certainly dislike Loki’s answer.

He is right.

“Why, drink it, Thor. What else would you do with a potion that prevents you from fathering a child?”

“I am not drink… _What_?”

“Do not look at me like that.” Loki shakes his head impatiently. “This is a realm of fertility and growth, and the future king of Asgard hardly needs an army of bastard children spread across the nine realms.”

Thor simply continues glaring at Loki with narrowed eyes.

Loki return his look with one of his ‘I cannot believe we are brothers’ ones. “It would not be prudent if you sired a child on your first diplomatic journey to a foreign realm.” Loki says slowly as if Thor is a particularly slow child. Thor’s gaze narrows even more. “And your chosen distraction is under Freya’s protection as a member of her household… _oh._ ”

“What now?” Thor demands after Loki stays silent, his face drawn into a frown.

“It would be in Freya’s interest to align Vanaheim more closely with Asgard, and there is no better way than through a political marriage.”

Thor gapes at Loki one long moment, stunned at the implication. He knows Loki to be cautious and suspicious, and more often than not, he’d been proved right, but it must be tiresome to see schemes and hidden motives everywhere. Also, untrue. “Loki, not everything is a trap presented as a gift.” Thor chides him. “And, honestly, how foolish do you consider me to be?”

Loki merely rises his eyebrows in answer.

“I am capable of restraint, and I am hardly an inexperienced boy.” Thor says, affronted. “I know my duty and I would never offend neither our family, neither the maiden in question.”

“Why yes, it had been such a formidable show of restraint when you laid your eyes on our hostess.” Loki snorts, taking a pinch of something red, and adding it to the mix. Thor’s eyes flick to his gift briefly, but he regrets it when he sees the liquid turning into something resembling mud. He is not drinking _that_. No matter what argument Loki chooses to use.

“I seem to recall the meeting differently, brother.” Thor says, drawing his eyes away from Loki’s potion, folding his hand behind his neck, the chair creaking in protest as he leans back, now half-lying in it. “ _You_ were the one acting most unseemly.”

Loki squares him with a hard look. “Only because you were mere moments from having a very hard, and very visible condition.”

“Out of the two of us, I am hardly the one who lacks experience in matters of the flesh.”

Loki regards Thor silently a moment before his face splits into a lazy, smug grin. _Far too_ smug to be anything but real. For some reason, Thor’s hand curls into a fist. “Brother, yet again you are mistaking discretion for abstinence.”

Suddenly annoyed for no apparent reason, Thor bites out. “Then why don’t you drink that swill, Loki? Clearly, you need it more than I.” 

“Perhaps I already have.” Loki says without missing a beat. “It matters little, though. Unlike yours, _my_ bastard children would have no claim on the throne of Asgard.”

Thor opens his mouth, but instead of a scathing remark, an amused chuckle escapes his throat. “Come now, Loki. All this talk about children… it is so unlike you.” Thor’s grin turns wolfish. “Could it be you are taken with that shy blonde from yesterday? You seemed deeply engrossed in your conversation. ”

Loki’s face grows serious. “We are both to be married sometime in not so distant future, Thor.” Loki says, ignoring Thor’s words completely. “Now that you are to become the king of Asgard… You will need a queen.”

Thor blinks, straightening in his seat. He had not considered marriage to be so near a future for him, but he can see the truth of Loki’s words. The line of Odin needs to continue. And it is his duty to see to it.

Frowning, he tries to imagine having a wife and children. A family of his own. It is not a future he dreads, but not one he has given more than a passing thought. Images that come to his mind are unclear and murky. Thor can see himself, sitting on the throne, but those surrounding him are nothing but silhouettes, only one face he sees with crystal clarity – Loki’s.

Blinking away the images, he rises to his feet and starts pacing, a flicker of unease chipping away at his good mood. No matter Loki’s words, it is far too soon to think of such matters. Their father still holds the reins of rule in capable hands and there is so much to taste and experience left in the nine realms.

Something occurs to him, and he halts his steps, turning to Loki, who has his hand over a bottle, a green light shining from his fingers, his eyes narrowed in concentration.

“You seem to have given the idea of marriage some thought, brother.”

“Unlike smashing, Thor, magic does require some amount of concentration and precision.” Loki says, his eyes not leaving the bottle, his voice strained. “And they are best practiced in silence.”

Thor snorts, but holds silent. With the power of Mjölnir under his command, the matter of smashing, as Loki tends to call Thor fighting, calls for a great deal of precision. Reaching after the clasps of his cape, he unfastens them, his fingers moving to the buckles holding his outer armor. When he is done, he drops the items unceremoniously on the chair, eliciting a short glare from Loki.

He stretches his limbs, somewhat calmer, but still wound too tightly to take leave, even if Loki seems determined to ignore him in lieu of making that damn potion Thor has no intention of drinking. Thor begins pacing again, his mind still obstinately clinging to Loki’s casual words about marriage, even if he sees no reason for that thought to leave a bitter taste in his mouth. And yet it does.

A low curse brings his attention back to Loki. It has been too long since he could observe Loki without Loki putting up one of the masks from his wide collection. His brother is dressed in his casual attire, a simple green tunic and brown breeches. Loki’s face is drawn into a frown, his lips pressed tightly together, a few unruly dark locks hanging loosely, making Loki seem younger than he is, almost boyish.

Thor smiles, his fingers itching with the desire to card into Loki’s hair and make a mess of the remaining slicked locks. But he values his limbs intact far too much to try.

But someone else will. Someone else already _had_.

Thor has never given much thought to Loki’s choice – or seeming lack thereof – of lovers. After many accusations of indiscretion and utter lack of temperance, Loki had ended his sharing of Thor’s more pleasant adventures. After initial teasing, Thor had simply stopped paying attention to his younger brother’s amorous life. 

And now, his stubborn mind seems strangely fascinated by the idea of supplying him with images of fingers combing through dark hair, of lips claiming the ever-smirking ones in a kiss. Of an imaginary someone claiming Loki as their own.

That thought wakes something inside Thor – dark and vicious, rebelling with savage determination against the idea of someone else laying claim to what is his.

He takes a step forward, but it is not his mind, but blood that drives him forward, until he is standing next to Loki, aware only of the uncontrollable need to bind his brother to himself. 

“Thor, what part of… _oh_.” Loki’s voice trails off, the annoyed expression quickly morphing into that of bewilderment. The moment stretches in silence, making the pounding of Thor’s heart even louder, until it becomes almost deafening. Seemingly without Thor making a conscious decision, his hand moves, but before it can reach his brother’s face, Loki flinches, and that small, instinctive gesture calls Thor back to reason.

Thor takes a hasty step back, his hand falling by his side. He blinks in confusion, feeling like he had been abruptly woken from a strange dream, his thoughts still hazy and unfocused, his tongue useless, leaden weight in his mouth.

As always, Loki is the one to recover first. “You should take better care of how much you drink, Thor.” He says, frowning, and Thor wants to protest, to offer an explanation. But he has none. Maybe Loki is right and he is drunk. It would give at least some sense to his madness. “It makes you even less inclined than usual to think before acting.”

“And that is why I have you, brother.” Thor says, his vice sandpaper rough, the smile on his lips too weak to reach his eyes, the ghost of what almost happened – not that Thor knows what would have happened, his intentions unclear past the simple desire to reach out and touch – an almost palpable presence in the air between them. “To think for me when I fail.”

“You will have to grow out of that habit, Thor.” Loki says, his voice serious. Thor’s heart clenches in his chest. “You will not have me by your side forever. You must know that.”

Thor is slowly starting to realize that fact. That does not mean he is ready to accept it. Even if Loki marries and starts his own family, he is Thor’s brother, a core piece in Thor’s life and heart. Losing him would be like having to breathe without his lungs. 

Gathering his belongings, Thor bids Loki good night, and if his steps are faster than it is necessary, it does not mean that he is running away.

He already has his fingers on the polished metal of the doorknob when he is stopped by Loki’s voice.

“I will have the potion ready in two days’ time. Until then, please exercise some restraint.”

Any other time, Thor would not give up as easily. But this is not any other time, and Thor needs to get away from Loki until he is sure his mind will not betray him like it did moments ago. “As you say, brother.”

“Thor.” Loki’s voice is unusually soft when he stops Thor for the second time, this time with Thor already one step out of Loki’s chamber.

“Yes?” Thor asks, but keeps his back turned on Loki.

“You will make a good father one day. When the time is right.”

Thor’s lips twitch. He can recognize an apology when he hears one. Not that Loki would ever admit it.

“And so will you, brother.” He says, and in that moment, he means it.

******

“Patience is a virtue, brother.” Loki says, and even if he looks at Thor with understanding in his eyes, Thor can almost feel Loki’s joy at his misfortune. “As a future king, you are destined to a life of dull meetings and old men trying to sway you to see things their way.”

Thor flops down on Loki’s bed in an ungraceful heap, closing his eyes. “But they would not cease speaking.” He groans. He can still hear a dull, monotone buzz of voices, spinning endless tales of absolutely nothing, the words merging together until not even Allspeak can make sense of it. “For hours on end. About the very same thing they have spoken in the first moments of the meeting.”

“That is how diplomacy works, Thor.”

Thor opens his eyes, pushing himself up on his elbows. “Hours, Loki. Hours.” He exclaims, a trace of despair lacing his words, and receives only a noncommittal shrug from Loki. “For three days. I cannot do this anymore. If I have to sit through another tirade explaining commercial routes through Vanaheim, I will go mad.” Narrowing his eyes at Loki, who now does not bother to hide a smug smile, he asks. “Why can’t you attend the meetings in my stead? Is it not the reason Father sent you on this journey?”

Loki’s face twists into a sour grimace for a brief moment. “And what purpose would that serve? I am not to become the king, you are.” A sharp grin curves his lips as he leans back in his seat, a glint of malice darkening his eyes. “And I have not come here to make sure you have enough time to spend indulging your baser urges, but to make sure you do not ruin Asgard’s good relations with Vanaheim.”

“That is precisely what I have suggested.”

“No, you suggested to be excused of your obligations.” Loki corrects, and Thor narrows his eyes at his brother’s snide tone. “I am to fix your mistakes, not do all the work.” Loki regards him silently through narrowed eyes, his face drawing into a frown. “Although, you seem to possess hidden talents, for I have yet to find a fault in your conduct these past three days.”

Thor snorts, siting up. “I must be imagining things.” He grins when the frown on Loki’s face deepens. “Because that sounded almost like a compliment.”

“Cease trying to sound witty, Thor. It suits you ill.” Loki says, but Thor trusts the tight line of Loki’s lips more than his actual words. “It will please you to hear that tomorrow your trials will be cut short.”

“How so?”

“In a manner most dear to you. Violence.” At Thor’s blank look, Loki heaves an exasperated sigh. “You did not expect that anyone would pass up the opportunity to show off the mighty Thor and his amazing fighting prowess?”

Thor merely blinks at Loki.

“There will be something like a tournament organized tomorrow. In your honor.” Loki’s voice is even, but Thor thinks he can hear a note of resentment in it. “You are to enter if you so choose.”

“I heard nothing of it.” Thor says, throwing a suspicious look at his brother. “How do you know of it?”

“Servants gossip.” Loki says, shrugging his shoulders.

“Servants gossip.” Thor repeats. “And you listen to them?”

“It matters little where the information comes from, as long as you are in possession of it.” Loki’s smile turns mischievous. “They are a reliable source of information, and it is always in your favour to be on good terms with those serving your food. You might want to remember that for when you are crowned king.”

Thor rises to his feet, giving little care to Loki’s words, his mind already deeply immersed in the possibilities of finally having the opportunity to leave this wretched hall and its diplomats with their incessant talks and demands. He can already feel the thrill of battle coursing through his veins, a low hum of static resonating inside his mind as he sees himself accepting the challenges.

“I see there is no point asking if you will enter the competition.” Loki says, a look of resignation drawn across his features.

“After what I had to endure these past three days, nothing save a direct command from the Allfather would be able to keep me away.”

And even then, Thor suspects, he would argue his point. “Is there a reason I should limit myself to only watching?”

Loki regards him silently before sighing in defeat. “It would be gracious of you not to embarrass the finest warriors Vanaheim has to offer by making them seem like inexperienced boys.”

Thor grimaces, offended. “I will not use Mjölnir. And we will fight on equal terms.”

“I suppose those foolish enough to challenge you will have only themselves to blame for what they will receive.”

Thor grins, and without giving it a second thought, strides over to where Loki is sitting, hauling him up and into a firm embrace. He squeezes his brother’s shoulders tightly, feeling Loki grow rigid against him, his hands spread awkwardly by his sides.

Thor draws back so he could look into Loki’s face, his grin fading at the look of panic on Loki’s face. “Brother?” He asks, loosening his hold a tiny fraction, but not letting go. “What is wrong?”

Loki blinks, and for a few seconds he looks like he is about to flee from Thor, but then he rises his hands to Thor’s shoulders, returning the hug briefly. But his body remains tense. “Now, could you let go of me? You are crushing my bones.”

Thor steps back grudgingly, Loki’s fresh scent lingering in his nostrils. He never could understand Loki’s reluctance when it came to physical affection. “You have brightened my day with your news, brother.”

“You were doing so well these last three days. Not once have you fallen asleep during a meeting, nor have you maimed any member of the Vanaheim’s nobility.” Loki drawls in mock exasperation, but Thor can see affection in his brother’s eyes. “It would have been a shame if you caused an incident between realms purely on the account of mind-numbing boredom.” 

Thor’s face splits into a wide grin. “Vanaheim’s climate is doing wonders for your sour disposition. You are becoming soft, brother. That is the second backhanded compliment you have given me today.”

“I would warn you not to let it go to your head, but that would be a waste of breath.” Loki scowls, returning to his seat. He eyes papers strewn across his desk then looks up at Thor pointedly. “Are you done wallowing in self-pity? Or was it something else you needed from me?”

Thor’s grin falters as he return Loki’s gaze. “Do I need a reason to see my brother?” He asks, not bothering to mask the hurt lacing his words.

Loki blinks, suddenly looking unsure. “No, of course not. I simply…” His voice trails off, his gaze flicking down, and when he looks up, a mask of cool detachment is set firmly across his face. “And how are things progressing with your fair maiden? Have you bedded her yet?”

“ _Loki_.”

“Come now, Thor.” Loki’s smile turns sharp, his green eyes glinting with something Thor cannot name, but it makes an involuntary shiver run up his spine. “Modesty does not become you.”

“And all your speeches about discretion? Have they been for naught?”

Loki regards him silently, his smirk widening. “So the the answer is no.”

Thor grimaces, crossing his arms over his chest. “As if I had a moment to spare between meetings.”

“That would have hardly stopped you before.” Loki says, his face drawing into a frown. “You are not growing attached to her?”

“She is lovely.” Thor says, smiling as he recalls a few stolen moments with Brenna. Loki’s frown deepens. “And she makes for a delightful company.”

Loki snorts. “I can almost imagine all the rousing philosophical discussions you two have been leading under the cover of the stars.”

“Loki, have… _how_ do you know that?”

“I am your brother, Thor. You are hardly a complex creature you seem to think of yourself.” Loki says simply, but, at Thor’s insistent glare, he adds resignedly. “And, like I previously mentioned, servants gossip.”

Thor narrows his eyes. “I am not a foolish boy in need of you shadowing my steps, Loki. I have already given my word that I mean to shame neither our family, nor the maiden in question.”

“Hm, now I know without a doubt you have not bedded her yet. You are far too high strung.”

“ _Loki_.” Thor growls in warning, but Loki merely rises his eyebrows, non-pulsed.

“I believe you have another meeting to attend to?” He smiles, and Thor can almost feel his hands itch with the desire to wipe away the insolent smirk from Loki’s face.

He fights the urge, though, settling for throwing another glare in Loki’s direction, and turns on his heel, stalking out of Loki’s chamber, all the while followed by the sound of Loki’s laughter.

******

“You are unusually quiet, my Lord. Have I offended you in some way?”

Thor’s head snaps in the direction of that soft voice, guilt written plainly on his face, cursing Loki and his wretched tongue inwardly. The echo of their conversation has been a nagging, mocking voice inside his mind the entire afternoon. Even now, away from the tedium of his duties and in the company of a beautiful maiden as the last traces of the day’s sweltering heat disappear with the cool night breeze, all Thor can see is that familiar mocking shape of Loki’s mouth.

“I cannot imagine an insult ever crossing these lips.” Thor smiles, but it does not come natural or easy as it does usually. This is a game, one he has always been good at, but he does not feel like playing it tonight, his own words ringing hollow to his ears. “And even then, it would sound sweet.”

She smiles, tilting her head as she looks up at him. “Then you must have grown bored of my company.” Her tone is light, almost teasing, but her eyes are serious. “I must seem terribly dull compared to Asgardian women.”

Thor cannot say why, possibly because of Loki’s ghostly presence, or because he feels tired, but he swallows the words he had said more times than he could count, and opts for the simple truth. “I have enjoyed your company immensely.” Thor smiles. They are standing next to each other, so he only has to reach out to take her hand in his, caressing it gently with his thumb. “And your beauty would shine even in the halls of Hlidskjalf.”

“My Lord is most gracious.” She says with a small bow, but she does not try to pry her hand out of Thor’s hold.

“I would prefer if you called me by my name.”

“You are an honored guest in my Lady’s home. And you are to rule the Realm Eternal one day.” She says, sounding wistful. “It would be taking too much liberty.”

“I am asking you to call me by my name.”

“I will grant your wish, my Lord, if you grant me mine.” She says after a moment of consideration, extracting her hand out of Thor’s grip. Thor allows it, his fingers lingering only briefly on her smaller ones.

A small smile flicks across Thor’s face. She is either better at this game than he is, or she truly is as innocent as she seems. Bowing low, he keeps his gaze trained on her eyes. “Your wish is my command, my Lady.”

“What ails you today?”

Thor blinks, taken aback. His first reaction is a brief pang of irritation at her presumptuousness, but there is nothing in her face that indicates hidden motives, only a mix of curiosity and compassion. Thor opens his mouth, but what comes out of them surprises even him. “Do you have any siblings, my Lady?”

“Unfortunately, no. I am an only child.” She smiles. “But I have often wished for a sister when I was younger.”

Thor chuckles. Would his life be simpler or infinitely more complicated if Loki were a woman? Or if she were completely different soul; gentler, simpler and easier to understand? But she would not be Loki, and despite all his poisonous barbs and mercurial moods, Thor cannot imagine his life without Loki in it. 

“Then I feel for you. There are few bonds strong as that between siblings.”

She regards him silently, understanding dawning over her features, but she says nothing. Giving him a choice. After a moment’s hesitation, Thor makes one.

“We were inseparable when we were younger.” Thor says, a ghost of a smile turning up the corners of his lips. His gaze rests in the distance, on the darkened outline of the forest resting on the edges of the valley surrounding Sessrúmnir, but it is not what he sees. He sees two boys, smiling conspiratorially at each other, and a deep ache blossoms inside his chest at the memory. “Now… nothing is as it were.”

Loki would call him foolish and naïve, for baring his soul to a complete stranger, no matter how beautiful she is, but Thor feels like a small amount of weight had been lifted from his shoulders simply by acknowledging out loud that what has been plaguing him recently.

“My life is far simpler than yours, my Lord, but what occupies our thoughts and feelings changes over the years. We change.”

Thor frowns. Could it be that simple? He does not feel all that different from his younger self. All his dreams and desires have stayed the same, his heart as well, only shaped to that of a man, not a boy. So what has happened to Loki during the years to drive this poisonous wedge between them? When had it begun? And why had he not seen the change sooner?

Shaking his head to clear it of all the gloomy thoughts, Thor smiles. “I thank you for your words of wisdom, my Lady. And your kindness.” Taking a step closer, Thor all but closes the distance between their bodies. Her eyelashes flutter in something akin to panic, but she holds her ground. “But you are violating the terms of our agreement.”

“How so?” She blinks, when Thor’s hands come to rest on her waist, tugging her closer. She does not protest, staying still save for a slight widening of her eyes.

Gently brushing a stray lock of hair from her face, Thor places her right hand on his shoulder, leaning closer so he could whisper to her ear. “You have yet to call me by my name.”

“ _Thor_.” She whispers, and when Thor tilts his head, brushing his lips against hers, he can almost taste his own name there.

******

Crouching down, Thor touches the ground, letting the dirt smear his fingers brown.

A sign of defeat, that. Such a small, insignificant, _plain_ thing, and it can mark a warrior forever. But it is not worry that has lead him to the training grounds, the vacant stands waiting for the spectators to arrive. It is not even the thrill of the upcoming fight, but a memory of the last one he had lost. To Sif, not so long ago, in a place almost identical to this one. With his thoughts a scattered mess not so much different from the state he has been in these past few days.

A brief, careless moment of looking away from his opponent, a pang of disappointment at not finding the familiar dark head among the spectators, a flash of hurt and frustration, and then a blow that forced him to his knees in the dirt.

A foolish distraction leading to a defeat lacking even a small amount of honour. No matter how good a warrior Sif is. And that is something he cannot allow to happen this day, Loki be damned.

“It lacks the majesty of Asgard’s training grounds, I am sure.”

Thor rises to his feet, clearing his thoughts of the memory of Sif’s shocked face, turning to greet his hostess. “It is not the architecture, but the spirit and strength of the warriors that count in this place.”

A corner of her lips twitches. “Our warriors are proud and strong, but they are not the God of Thunder.”

Thor smiles. “Defeat comes to everyone. That is what makes every fight thrilling. The possibility of losing.”

“And yet I somehow cannot imagine you being overly familiar with defeat.” Freya says, her smile turning wistful as she adds. “My brother will mourn the fact he had missed the chance to face you in combat.”

“Then he would not be the only one.” Thor says. It is not courtesy, he does feel a pang of regret at missing the opportunity to test his skill against Freyr. “It is unfortunate his absence coincided with my visit to your realm.”

“Perhaps the regret will prove a better incentive for him not to stray so far for so long than the bonds of brotherly love.” She sounds bitter and hurt, and Thor chooses to stay silent, glancing at the weapons rack, watching the way sunlight reflects of the polished steel. He wonders again, the memory of hushed words echoing inside his mind, have the blonde twins truly crossed the line from siblings to lovers? And, much to his chagrin, it is not disgust that stirs in the pit of his stomach at the thought of two pale bodies entwined together, words ‘brother’ and ‘sister’ coming out as breathless moans, but dark fascination.

Grimacing, he steers his thoughts into safer, more appropriate waters. There are not many forbidden subjects in Asgard, no matter its tendency for clinging to values and morals far longer than other realms. Loki thinks it a weakness, calls it arrogance, but Thor has never shared Loki’s opinion that change is needed before the civilization crumbles in on itself. Asgard has built its place among the realms on the blood of its warriors, and is kept there by All-Father’s strength and wisdom, any change could only be change for the worse.

When his gaze returns to Freya, her expression is drawn into a frown, her eyes studying Thor carefully. There is something deeply unsettling about her scrutiny, making Thor feel like his heart is a well full of shameful secrets, all bared before her searching gaze.

“But now I wonder would it be less painful to have the one you love near you but far out of reach?”

Thor blinks at her cryptic words, his chest tightening with sudden dull ache. He merely stares at her, his hands unconsciously clenching into fists at the look of sympathy in her eyes.

The silence grows oppressive, but Thor cannot make himself break it, his mind a blank, unresponsive slate. Freya is the one to do so for him.

“I see the curiosity has provided my people with the unusual desire for an early rise.” Freya smiles, the expression on her face turning to amusement. “You will have quite an audience, Thunderer.”

Thor turns, following her gaze. She is right. Men and women are already pouring through the archway, taking the seats closest to the ring.

Thor grins, wide and fierce, the bloodlust starting to take hold. “I will do my utmost not to disappoint them.”

The corner of Freya’s lips twitches, forming a small smirk. “Try not to crush our warriors’ spirits badly.” She says, and with a small incline of her head, she leaves Thor standing in the middle of the central ring, staring after her retreating back.

Thor blinks, drawing his eyes away from Freya, coming to stand near one of the weapons rack. His fingers move lightly over the swords and maces aligned neatly. Mjölnir is and always will be his preferred weapon. More than a weapon, really, an extension of Thor’s soul and a powerful reminder of his own worth. It is source of immense pride for him – might of a dying star harnessed and shaped into the form of a hammer, answering his, and his alone, call. But he is not preparing to face an enemy in battle, but to test his skill against that of other warriors. For that Mjölnir would be too great an advantage.

His fingers linger briefly on the hilt of a longsword – sleek, elegant and deadly, but hardly his weapon of choice. He’s always leaned toward blunt weapons, to get the most out of his considerable physical strength. It had been Loki who preferred longswords before he started incorporating magic and illusions into his fighting style, choosing daggers as his customary weapons. 

Thor pulls the sword out, testing its weight in his hand. He makes a few slashing moves at the air, his body instinctively assuming the correct stance when his gaze catches a spot of green in the stands. He pauses mid thrust, his eyes drawn to a still figure in the sea of moving bodies.

Following an impulse, he bows deeply, the longsword in his hand creating a sweeping arc through the air. He is standing too far to be able to see the expression on Loki’s face, but he can imagine the tight press of his lips and an eye roll which leave no doubt about Loki’s opinion of his salute.

_Theatrical, arrogant fool._

******

Grinning, Thor wipes the blood from his nose with the back of his hand.

He offers a small bow of his head to his opponent, not breaking the eye contact as he takes a step to his left which his opponent mirrors by moving to the right. There is a slight limp to his stride, and he seems to be favoring his left hand now, his youthful face drawn in concentration.

Thor could not venture a guess how long he has been fighting, but the sun has risen high above his head, the heat and physical exertion creating a thin sheet of sweat across his body, making his tunic cling tightly to his skin. But his breathing comes out even, his body working like a well-oiled machine, each movement fluid and graceful, no matter his impressive bulk. But he had been doing this one way or another since he was old enough to lift a wooden sword almost his size, every move coming as natural as breathing.

He is pleasantly surprised by the skill of his challengers. Especially the fourth one – a seasoned warrior, bearing a scar across the right side of his face, ghosts of many battles and many dead plain in his gaze. He reminded Thor of Hogun with his measured movements and calmness even as he whirled around, the sword in his hand fast and deadly, forcing Thor to defend himself as much as he attacked. He still lost, his back hitting the dirt as he failed to block Thor’s strike, the hilt of Thor’s sword hitting him square in the chest, forcing the breath out of his lungs.

He had met his defeat with the same calm composure as he had fought. Thor offered him a hand, bowing his head in silent respect, making a note to share drinks with the man afterward.

His current opponent is young and lithe, relying on his speed to attack quickly but with vicious precision, all the while keeping himself away from Thor. Thor already has a rather large collection of bruises from his staff, including a bloodied nose and a cut underneath his left eye. He reminds Thor of Loki somewhat, a blur of movement that stays frustratingly out of reach, driving his opponents to carelessness, and then exploiting it to deliver a fatal blow.

But Thor is nothing if not patient in a fight, a virtue he lacks – sorely, according to his brother – in any other aspect of his life, so he stays calm, blocking most of the blows, waiting for his chance. The grin on his face widens, turning sharp at the dawning realization on the boy’s – he looks like one, his face smooth, his eyes lacking the shadows and experience that come with age – face. He expects defeat, his eyes becoming wider, panic blossoming in their depths. He feels a momentary flash of sympathy for the boy. He still remembers it to be his first lesson a long time ago, when he had been young, inexperienced and driven purely by instinct – when you start to doubt yourself, you have lost the fight.

Deciding to have pity on the boy and end this quickly, Thor feigns a lunge with his sword which makes the boy take a step to the right, rising his staff to block the blow that does not come, leaving his left side exposed. Thor whirls, the blunt side of his sword connecting solidly with the boy’s side, making him stumble, than fall to his knees, his staff clattering to the ground.

Thor smiles, offering the boy a hand. The boy blinks, a look of utter disappointment and shock marring his features, but he takes Thor’s offered hand, allowing Thor to pull him up.

“You will make a fine warrior one day.” Thor smiles, clasping the boy’s shoulder. “What is your name?”

“Bard, my Lord.”

The shock is already lessening on Bard’s face, but the disappointment is still burning hot in his eyes. Thor’s hold on his shoulder tightens. “Do you know why you were defeated today, Bard?”

“Because I am no match for you, my Lord.” Bard says, and there is something sullen in his tone.

Thor chuckles, shaking his head. “Even if there had been someone else facing you, you would be the one to lose.” Thor says, making the boy’s face draw into a frown of confusion. “If defeat is what you expect, victory will not come, no matter how skilled you are.”

Bard blinks slowly, and Thor pats him on the shoulder, taking a step back. He rises his free hand high in the air, turning to face the crowd. “Next!” He shouts, his voice carrying over the loud cheers coming from the spectators.

Thor stops mid turn, his gaze catching the sight of Brenna, sitting a few rows behind Freya. His grin widens, and he winks at her, and even from this far, he can see a flush of red coloring her cheeks. He draws his eyes reluctantly from her, meeting the look of exasperation in the familiar pair of green eyes. Loki is sitting next to Freya, looking like he would rather be anywhere else, but Thor knows his younger brother enough to see through that particular expression. He winks again, this time at his brother, and is rewarded by an eye roll.

“Is there no one else?” Thor all but roars this time, a note of something almost ferocious seeping into his voice. It sounds almost ominous in the sudden deathly silence that has settled over the training grounds when the next challenger failed to appear. It had been a good day, but his lust for battle has hardly been sated, his blood still singing with the thrill of a fight and the fierce joy of victory.

“I would issue a challenge.” A soft voice comes from behind him. Thor’s face breaks into a grin and he turns to meet his next opponent, freezing on spot as his eyes land on the tall, lanky figure standing a few feet away.

_The elf._

Thor has not seen him since that day at dinner, but he has not forgotten him. Nor the expression with which he’d regarded Loki that day. It is nothing similar to the calm, aloof expression he is wearing currently, his grey eyes staring at Thor with no fear or respect whatsoever.

Thor’s grin turns predatory, his lips curling over his bared teeth. The barely held excitement inside him grows darker, dangerously close to morphing into bloodlust. His fingers close tighter over the hilt of his sword, and he takes a step forward, his posture turning threatening without his conscious decision. But the elf merely stands still, only the corner of his mouth twitching in acknowledgment of Thor’s actions.

A tinge of red flashes on the edges of his vision, a growl forming deep inside his throat. _Oh, but he will enjoy this_. He can almost see the elf down on the ground, his immaculate grey tunic stained with dirt and that haughty expression wiped clean off his face.

Thor takes another step toward the elf, his muscles flexing underneath his skin, images of elf’s defeat dancing inside his mind. The elf holds his ground, making no move to even arm himself, and that only sharpens the edges of Thor’s grin, the need for violence inside him becoming so strong he can almost taste it.

“You choose unarmed combat?” Thor asks when the elf stays unmoving, showing no intention of arming himself. A rather large part of him wishes for the answer to be affirmative, his hands close to burning with the need to inflict pain all by themselves.

“I will give my answer if my challenge stands accepted.” The elf sys coolly.

“I _have_ accepted your challenge.” Thor answers impatiently, but there is something in the careless gaze of those grey eyes that makes his insides clench with a feeling close to dread.

“And I am honored, my Lord.” The elf says with curt bow. “But my challenge had not been meant for you.”

The words land like a blow to his chest, leaving Thor speechless. The elf’s gaze slides from Thor’s face, drawn to something behind Thor’s back.

“I wish to challenge Loki of Asgard.” The elf announces firmly. “If he is willing to face me in combat.”

The silence that descends over the training ground after that bold statement resembles a calm preceding the storm. Thor stays still as a statue, his eyes boring into the elf, his self-control hanging by a thread. But the elf ignores him, his eyes still somewhere behind Thor.

Reluctantly, as if following a will not his own, Thor turns, his eyes immediately drawn to Loki. His brother’s face is unreadable mask, his eyes set on his challenger. Thor cannot remember when had been the last time he had felt as helpless as he does now. Every cell inside his body rebels against Loki meeting the elf in combat for reasons unclear t him. Not that he wishes to understand the reasons behind the burning need that has him clenching his jaw tightly to stop the words that are threatening to spill past his lips.

And then Loki rises to his feet, a small smile curving his lips upward, and Thor knows the answer even before Loki opens his mouth and two softly spoken words break the silence with the might of a thunder storm.

“I accept.”

An expression of triumph passes across the elf’s face, making Thor’s vision flash red. He makes a step toward the elf before he catches himself, his breaths coming out in harsh pants.

The elf strides over to the weapon rack, pulling out a wooden staff. He twirls it experimentally, his body moving fluidly with it. Thor drags his eyes from the elf, suddenly aware of how ridiculous sight he must be presenting to the gathered spectators – a still third figure on a stage meant for only two.

He almost jumps back when he feels thick bundle being forcibly thrust at him.

“Here, be of some use.” Loki says tersely, and more out of surprise than anything else, Thor takes the offered bundle, he only barely registers as Loki’s cape.

“Loki,” Thor starts, but Loki gives him a look far sharper than any of the daggers he is so fond of.

“There could be only two reasons for you not to want me fighting him, and _both_ are going to cost you your tongue if you dare to ask me to forfeit this fight.” Loki hisses, his long fingers working deftly in unlacing the outer layers of his ceremonial armour. Thor frowns, but stays silent. He wonders about the reasons Loki spoke of. And it is ironic that Loki had already come up with two reasons for Thor’s, admittedly irrational, desire when he himself has no idea why the upcoming fight makes him feel almost physically ill.

When he is done, Loki removes the leather vest, which leaves him dressed only in a green tunic and dark brown breeches. He disposes the heavy leather in Thor’s hands, and a small growl falls from Thor’s lips at Loki’s show of blatant disrespect.

“I am not your servant, Loki.”

“I can see that. A servant would know when it is time to bow and take his leave.” Loki says, arching his eyebrow. “A quality you obviously lack, brother.”

Thor’s eyes narrow into slits. He is close, precariously so, to throwing Loki’s clothes down in the dirt. But that would be a behavior unfit for a child, not the Crown Prince of Asgard. He throws a quick glance at the elf, now standing still, waiting, his face unreadable masks his gaze rests on the weapon in his hands.

“Thor, you are dangerously close to creating a spectacle.” Loki says in a low voice, the wide smile on his lips in stark contrast with the warning glare in his eyes. A smile that curves Thor’s lips at that is dark and challenging, and it makes Loki’s lips press together, his eyelashes fluttering closed for a brief second. “Please, Thor.” Loki adds, finally, and it is the combination of the weariness on Loki’s face and the use of the word ‘please’ what finally makes Thor relent.

Thor opens his mouth to say something – wish Loki good luck, or offer an advice, but, in the end, nothing comes out. Instead, he strides over to a weapon rack, almost brushing shoulders with the elf.

“What is your name?” Thor asks, as he deposits the sword back to its proper place, his fingers lingering briefly on the hilt. He does little to mask the hostility in his voice. Or his eyes.

The elf’s face stays impassive, revealing nothing. “Vidar, my Lord.”

“Vidar.” Thor’s mouth curves over the name, a dark promise seeping into his voice. “I will remember it.”

And that finally draws a reaction from the stoic elf. A twitch of lips and a flash of a knowing smile, but his reply is nothing if not formal and respectful. “I am honored, my Lord.” The elf bows deeply, and Thor finally accepts that he has no choice but to stride out of the ring, the cheers of the crowd doing a poor job of drowning out the grinding of his teeth.

A servant appears seemingly out of nowhere the second Thor steps out of the ring and, with a deep bow, asks for the clothes Loki deposited to Thor’s care. Thor barely registers the words, but he hears enough to relinquish his brother’s clothing into servant’s outstretched hands, his gaze immediately returning back to the scene unfolding in the ring.

“My Lord?”

“Yes?” Thor snaps at the servant, but forces his voice to sound less hostile at the look of fear on his boyish face. “What is it?”

“My Lady would be honored if you joined her.” The servant blurts out, and, with a deep bow, scurries away in a hurry to get away from Thor.

Turning, Thor meets Freya’s inquiring gaze, but he makes no move to take the seat his brother so recently occupied. He is far from the appropriate mood to entertain light conversation. But, more importantly, he has a better view of the ring from where he is standing. So he merely takes a deep bow, and turns his attention back to his brother and the elf.

Loki has yet to move, his head tilted slightly as he studies his challenger. Thor is too far to be certain, but there is an almost hungry expression on Loki’s usually guarded face. It does nothing to lessen the dark and angry feeling building inside Thor. And no matter how little inclined Thor is toward introspection, the elf’s insolent attitude is hardly the cause for such fierce antagonism. But he feels what he feels, and having been denied the fight he desired, he is left simmering in silence, as he is forced to watch the elf achieve exactly what he intended. 

Loki makes a curt nod, and walks leisurely to a weapon rack. He does not even take a moment to consider his choice, pulling out a staff, twirling it casually as he takes two steps backward, his eyes not moving from his opponent.

Thor frowns. Decades have passed since Loki used anything but daggers in a fight. And Loki is hardly the one to purposely make himself vulnerable or weaker in a fight.

The elf – _Vidar_ – moves to follow, and Thor has never wanted anything with so much intensity as he wants to wipe away the small, soft smile playing on the elf’s lips as he regards Loki.

And then the elf moves, fast, almost too fast for Loki to follow, and the fight commences.

From strictly technical side, Thor catches small imperfections in both elf’s as well as Loki’s style. He already knows his brother’s proclivity toward daggers, but it seems the elf had also picked a weapon he does not favour. But those imperfections are small, and obvious only to experienced eye, but the fight itself is almost beautiful. An odd word for describing a fight, but fitting to what is displayed in the ring.

The elf and Loki are a well matched pair, Thor notes with rising agitation, their performance resembling more to a dance between lovers than a fight between two people who only just met.

Thor stops paying attention to the fight itself, well aware that it could go on forever or until they are forced to call it draw, his attention focusing solely on Loki. His brother looks nothing like his usual composed and collected self. His hair is in disarray, his green eyes glinting and his lips stretched into a toothy grin. And, with a pang that is equal parts guilt and envy, Thor notes that the expression Loki wears is something he so rarely sees these days reflecting from his brother’s face.

_Happiness._

And it is a complete stranger who put it there. Gritting his teeth together, Thor clenches his hands into fists as a wave of bright-hot fury darkens his vision. But there is also a deep ache underneath the fury, making every breath hurt as if the air in his lungs has turned to shards of glass.

The elf stops suddenly, rising his hands, the staff clattering to the ground. Loki looks as perturbed as Thor – and probably everyone present – feels, but even as he makes no move to attack, he still keeps his own staff raised. And _that_ almost makes Thor break into a grin. Of course Loki would never leave himself open to a possibility of a trap.

“Why challenge me if you meant to surrender?” Loki asks, his voice laced with honest curiosity and a trace of disappointment.

“I am not surrendering.” The elf says softly.

Loki looks pointedly down to his abandoned weapon and then back up to the elf’s raised hands. “All evidence points to the contrary.”

“But eyes are so easy to deceive, my Lord.” The elf smiles. “You should know that better than most.”

Loki frowns, confusion and suspicion plain on his face. “And why is that?”

The elf merely shrugs, and, with a casual wave of his left hand, suddenly there are two, then three of him, the images appearing until there are half a dozen copies of the elf, standing in a half-circle, all grinning at Loki, who, for once, looks utterly stunned. But then his face changes, like the sun breaking through the clouds, an almost childlike awe written plainly across his features, and it is one of the most beautiful sights Thor has ever seen.

“Oh.” Loki says, and his lips slowly curl into a smirk as his own staff clatters to the ground. Thor knows what is about to happen even before the green light spills from his brother’s fingers, remembrance of the last time he saw it tugging at his heartstrings. But then it had not been an impish smirk on his brother’s face as his image flickered, disappearing among the conjured copies of himself, each with the same cold anger twisting their features.

Thor’s eyes squeeze shut for a second under the weight of that memory, the anger draining from his blood, leaving only a hollow feeling of defeat.

Loki will win, Thor is certain of it, but he has no desire to stay and watch it happen. When he turns and forces his way through the crowd, he feels like he is running away, his very being rebelling against such a display of weakness and cowardice, but that does not make him slow his steps until he is far away from the training grounds.

******

Thor cannot remember the last time Loki came to seek him out willingly. As children they were never apart, but lately, it had been always Thor hounding Loki’s chambers whether to try to draw him out or confront him on some new mischief.

So it is not Loki who Thor expects to see when the door to his chamber swing wide open a mere moment after a loud knock. Thor’s initial reaction is a wide, surprised smile, but it freezes on his lips at the sight his brother is presenting.

Loki looks livid.

He is still dressed only in his tunic and breeches, his hair a wild mess of locks, and it occurs to Thor that Loki came to see him immediately after the fight.

Thor rises to his feet, unwilling to let Loki loom over him, the echo of his earlier anger making itself known. “Should I mark this day as a holiday, brother?” Thor smiles, sharp and vicious. “Surely, a visit from you deserves to be remembered for centuries to come.” 

“Do not start this battle with me, Thor.” Loki hisses, his narrowed eyes glinting with anger. “You stand no chance.”

“As you keep reminding me, brother.” Thor’s smile widens, a perfect replica of Loki’s own insolent grin. “Has it not occurred to you I might have learned something over the years?”

Loki snorts. “As if anything I have said would ever make a lasting impression on that simple mind.” Loki’s voice is harsh, words callous as always, but is it because Thor wishes to hear it or not, but there is an underlying note of hurt in Loki’s voice. “Or anyone else, for that matter. You ever and always only hear what you want to hear. And you only ever do what you wish. No matter the consequences.”

“A valid accusation coming from someone who takes pleasure from humiliating others out of boredom and petty jealousy.” Thor snaps, words falling from his lips with the strength of a physical blow.

It is not what Thor means to say, but he says it none the less, and perhaps he had learned something from Loki during the years, because his words hit the mark perfectly. Loki blanches, his eyes widening, but he regains composure almost instantly. _Almost_.

“So… you can be taught. In that case, you should remember this for future reference.” Loki smiles pleasantly, but there are thousand daggers hidden in that smile. All aiming for Thor. “It is inadvisable to show dissension among your ranks for everyone to see. Friend or foe.”

Thor blinks, grimacing. “Speak plainly, Loki. I am in no mood for deciphering your words.”

“Pity, that. For _I_ am in no mood to indulge you.”

With that, Loki turns, intent on leaving. But he only takes two steps before Thor springs into action. With a muttered curse, Thor moves, catching Loki by the elbow and spinning him around.

“Let go of me.” Loki hisses, but he does not try to pry his hand out of Thor’s grip. It would be useless in any case. For once, Loki is staying put, even if Thor has to pin him to the ground to achieve it.

“Not before you explain yourself.”

“Do not presume you can command _me_ , Thor.” Loki says in a low voice, warning clear in his eyes. It only makes Thor’s grip tighten. “You are yet to become king.”

Loki calls him a fool, and Thor would never call himself a great thinker, he follows his instincts, the call of his blood. And right now, his blood is starting to boil with rising fury. “Is that what this is all about?” Thor all but growls, curling the fingers of his other hand around the back Loki’s neck and pulling him almost flush against his own body. “You believe _you_ should be the king and not me?”

“Maybe I do!” Loki exclaims, voice like cracking of a whip.

Loki’s words fall between them with the weight of something final, and in the ensuing silence Thor can almost hear the sound of thousand years’ worth of memories break in half. He blinks slowly, his fingers slowly uncurling from Loki’s neck and elbow. He had not meant to say the words, he had not suspected them to be true, but there is nothing false now on Loki’s face. Only truth and something ugly, twisted and dark, a bitter resentment Loki does not bother to hide anymore.

And suddenly it is a battle, if it ever were anything else, and if Thor knows how to do anything, it is to fight.

“And what makes you think you would be a better king?”

“Anyone with half a mind could.” Loki’s words are harsh and angry and meant to wound, but it is not the words, but the _conviction_ in Loki’s eyes that scratches at Thor’s heart. “You are reckless and arrogant, you believe you are entitled to all your heart desires and you never, _ever_ stop to think before you act. Behavior fitting a spoiled child, not the king of Asgard.”

“And what about you, Loki?” Thor sneers, and this is how a fight goes – hit for a hit, blood for blood. Wound for a wound. And Thor aches to do just that. But for the first time, he yearns to do it by using Loki’s own weapon – words. “With your lies and deceit and cowardly magic. You think yourself better than me?”

Loki hits him. It is combination of the strength of the blow and the sheer unexpectedness of it that makes Thor take two stumbling steps back, his hand rising to his lips. With a strange fascination Thor observes his fingers, now stained red with his blood. Blood his own brother drew. Brother who never resorted to physical violence, choosing instead words as his weapon of choice. But not this time.

“Do not ever call me coward again.” Loki breathes out, and the sight of his eyes, hardened by a feeling Thor has seen numerous times in the eyes of his enemies, cuts through the haze of anger and hurt around Thor’s mind. But the hollow numbness it leaves behind in the middle of his chest is far worse. “And if you know what is best for you, you will refrain from seeking me out in the foreseeable future.”

With that, Loki turns and stalks out of Thor’s chamber, and this time, Thor allows him to leave.

******

“… every summer. It has always been my favourite festivity.”

The sound of Brenna’s voice is a calming presence in his mind, but Thor cannot focus on her words, his gaze keeps flicking sideways, drawn to the back of a dark head, his teeth gritting together each time he hears the sound of Loki’s laughter, or as his brother leans closer to say something to his companion.

Three days. It had been three days since their clash in Thor’s chamber, and since then they have not spoken without a third party present. The worst thing, Loki has been nothing if not helpful, offering counsel and acting like a perfect younger brother in public – charming and supportive of his older brother, soon to be king.

Thor knows better. He sees it in the coldness of Loki’s gaze, in the way Loki’s smile shifts when he knows only Thor can see him – it is an act, a parody of servitude, and the worst is that Loki is succeeding in getting under Thor’s skin and driving him to distraction without actually doing anything untoward. Trust Loki to manage to find a way to turn even helpfulness into a weapon.

But Thor would be damned if he relents. Not this time. If his words were sharpened blades meant to cut, Loki’s were coated in venom, and they came first.

Another bout of laughter drifts on the light summer breeze, making Thor’s grip on the reins tighten. But it is not only Loki’s recent game that had been grating on Thor’s patience, but his brother’s recent closeness to that elf, Vidar. Since their fight – Loki had indeed been victorious, as Thor had found out later – they have become almost inseparable, and the sight of them together, of Loki smiling at him without malice or pretense as he used to at Thor, feels like a slow burning poison coursing through his veins.

A low, melodious chuckle draws his attention back to his companion. “It is an amusing, even if slightly disappointing, notion to become aware I have been entertaining only myself with the tales of our customs.”

Thor smiles sheepishly. “It seems I am doomed to give truth to your initial opinion of my lack of manners.”

She tilts her head, quirking her eyebrows. “And as I recall, you have redeemed yourself that time.”

“So there is a hope I could do it for the second time.” Thor smiles.

She merely quirks her eyebrows, and Thor’s smile grows wider. She is hardly innocent as she likes to act sometimes, but there is nothing calculating in her behavior. They are merely two people who have found a certain fondness in each other’s company, their relationship not progressing beyond a few shared kisses. It is not because of Loki’s suspiciousness or Thor’s lack of desire, it is more a matter of ill timing – Thor’s duties and his strife with Loki ruining what could have been a joyful and relaxing two weeks. But, there are three more days left to his visit, and he will be damned if he allows Loki to spoil them for him.

“In my defense, I have not completely missed your tale, my Lady.” Thor says, keeping his gaze fixed on Brenna’s face, not allowing it to stray where it wants to. “But I would enjoy hearing the entire version this time.”

“There is not much to tell, in truth.” She shrugs. “It is a small, rather inconsequential ceremony, but I enjoy it because it reminds me of my childhood. And this year, the gathering will indeed be grand.”

Thor’s eyes flick briefly toward Freya, riding further ahead, seemingly deep in thought. “Your Lady does not attend it each year?”

She frowns, staying silent a long moment. “She used to, when I were but a little girl.” Her smile turns wistful, her brow creasing. Thor finds it endearing. “She and her brother. I remember thinking I have never seen anything as beautiful, and they only had eyes for each other. Always laughing, always together. I must have been in love a little then. With both of them.” Her voice trails off, and she stays silent a long moment, and Thor swallows against the lump in his throat, her words inadvertently grazing the fresh wound on his heart. She looks up at him, her smile turning sheepish. “You must think me silly.”

“Why should I? Every child dreams of things that are beautiful. Or grand.”

“Even Thor Odinson?”

Thor chuckles. “Aye, even him.”

“And what dreams the firstborn son of Asgard could have had?”

Thor hesitates only a fraction of a moment. “Of something that seemed almost unattainable, and thus all the more alluring.” At her questioning look, Thor touches the handle of the hammer hanging from his belt.

She chuckles. “We do have different dreams, do we not? Men and women. While we dream of beauty and love, you always dream of weapons and destruction.”

“Perhaps.” Thor admits. “But Mjölnir is not like any other weapon.”

“Oh, yes.” She chuckles. “The hammer with a will of its own. Or is it _her_ own, my Lord?”

“Capricious, demanding and magnificent, of course Mjölnir is female.” Thor laughs, remembering the first time he felt the hammer move under his fingers. How it felt to have her recognize something in him, something she deemed worthy her loyalty. “Even Loki…” His voice falters momentarily, acutely aware how closely tied all his memories are to his brother. How Loki had been the first person he sought after claiming Mjölnir as his own. “He had been the first to name her such.”

“You and your brother seem nothing alike.” She says softly. “But you always speak of him so fondly.”

Light and shadow, that is how they are being referred to in hushed whispers, but Thor has always only smiled and disregarded it. He is himself and Loki is Loki, and they are brothers, and compared to that truth, all their differences pale, small and insignificant. But are they really? Thor is not certain of it anymore.

“He is my brother.” He says, but the words lack their usual conviction. “And we have spent all our lives together. Our lives are inextricably tied together. By blood and memories.”

And love. Forever and always.

“I have a confession to make.” She says with a conspiratory smile, and Thor rises his eyebrows in question. “I have not had the honour of being introduced to your brother, but he holds my sympathy anyway.”

Thor frowns. Loki can charm anyone if he sets his mind to it, but he rarely bothers, more adept at making enemies with his harsh tongue and little tricks, his reserved attitude not making for a favorable first impression. “Should I feel jealous of my brother?”

She smiles, her gaze darting in the direction of Loki and his companion, and it is more an instinct than anything else to follow it with his own gaze. They are riding even closer now, Loki listening intently to the elf who seems to be in the middle of explaining something.

It is irrational desire, this need to spur his horse onward and quite literally separate the two. Thor quenches it, but the echo of it remains, visible in the tight press of his lips and the tense line of his shoulders.

“Only if you wish you were the one to claim victory over Vidar.” Brenna says, and Thor blinks, startled for a moment, her words almost a direct voicing of his thoughts. But there is a telltale sign of animosity in the slightly disdainful curve of her lips as she gazes toward the elf.

“Who is he?” Thor asks, seizing the opportunity to find out more about the elf who has become such a great source of displeasure for him in such short amount of time.

“No one really knows for certain.” She says, her tone even. “He simply appeared one day and asked for an audience with my Lady.” A grimace of disdain appears freely on her face when she adds. “Next we know, he became her advisor.”

“You seem to hold no sympathy for him.”

“He cares little for anyone’s sympathy.” She says, and Thor suddenly wonders is there a more intimate reason for her animosity, not a simple clash of characters. “He is arrogant, ruthless and colder than a Jotunn. He has a way to make everyone feel small and insignificant with barely a few words.” He expression turns into a grimace, but there is a small, vindictive smirk on her lips as she adds. “And, before your brother, no one has ever defeated him in a fight. He is too powerful.”

Her words twist inside Thor’s mind, and he becomes aware how little tweaking it would take to make them fit the darker whispers circulating Asgard about Loki. His eyes dart toward his brother, suddenly feeling apprehensive. How well did he truly know Loki? And worse yet, how much effort did he make in trying to get a better understanding of his contrary brother?

“But obviously not powerful as your brother.” She smiles with dark glee. “You must be proud of him. His skill is truly grand.”

For some reason her words feel like an accusation. Loki’s magic has never bothered him much, no matter his own disregard of its use, or the words he spoke in anger. But it never occurred to him to feel proud of Loki’s skill at it.

Smiling thinly, he changes the subject. “I seem to recall a certain story you promised to tell.”

She blinks, momentarily thrown aback, but then her face relaxes into a smile. “Are you certain? You had little patience for it the first time.”

“I have little of it to spare. Or so I have been told.” He says, and the bitter taste the words leave in his mouth feels very much like shame. “But I am willing to make an effort to change.” As an afterthought, he adds, his voice almost a whisper, his eyes once again gaining victory over his will as they drift back to Loki. “If given the chance.”

******

The sky over the small village looks like it is bleeding red and gold, the air saturated with the heady smell of the purple flowers growing seemingly everywhere. Thor plucks one, bringing it closer to his nose, inhaling deeply.

There is a certain almost dreamlike quality to this small village, consisting of small cottages, carved entirely out of wood, each one painted red and gold, the vibrant colours creating an aura of warmth and something entirely sensual. As if it exists removed from the reality, unburdened by its weights and responsibilities.

When Freya extended him the invitation to attend this local festivity celebrating the end of the summer and the upcoming harvest, Thor seized the opportunity gladly. He needed the change of scenery, the walls of the great hall Sessrúmnir becoming too confining recently. And it was driving him out of his mind, to stand in front of the doors leading to his brother’s chambers, knowing he is not welcome.

“It is called goat’s blood and here it is considered weed.” An amused voice informs him. “We barely even notice its existence anymore.”

Freya’s words pull Thor out of his thoughts, and he takes another deep inhale, before offering it to her. “Weed or not, its scent is in no way less pleasant than that of the flowers my Mother is so proud of back at home.”

Freya chuckles, but accepts the flower and Thor’s hand. “We always admire that which is rare to us.”

They walk side by side in silence through the main street, and Thor eyes the couples holding hands and smiling at each under the light of the flickering flames coming from lit torches. Thor has no doubt whatsoever as to how most of these young people will spend this night.

“I… _we_ were conceived on a night such as this one a long time ago.” Freya says suddenly, drawing Thor away from his thoughts of Brenna’s whereabouts.

“I recall no actual magic being enacted during the ceremony.”

Freya laughs, a burst of carefree, joyous laughter. She stops and turns to face Thor, a mischievous smile on her lips. “No, you misunderstand me. There is no magic involved here. Only that which comes from here.” She says, splaying her palm wide over the spot above Thor’s heart. “And _here_.” She adds in a sultry tone as she drags her fingers lower, stopping above the waistline of Thor’s breaches. Thor sucks in a harsh breath, startled, drawing another laugh from Freya, low and melodious, as she pulls her hand, commencing their stroll anew.

Thor blinks, swallowing against the sudden dryness of his throat. He is no inexperienced boy, but there is something in her which makes him feel as if he is one. “So there is no heightened virility at play this night?”

“You would have no higher chance of fathering a child on this night than any other. But due to the nature of this festivity, your chances of been given such opportunity are far greater.” She takes a long, pointed look of Thor. “Think of it as a night in which all men hold the appeal of Thor Odinson.”

Thor chuckles. “You are far too kind, my Lady.”

“And you are falsely modest.” She says, turning to face Thor once again, suddenly growing serious. “Now go and seize this night. I would have you remember our realm with joy and fondness.”

“What of you?” Thor says, holding her gaze firmly, her hand still trapped between Thor’s fingers. “Will you not do the same?”

A strange expression passes across her face, part sorrow and part anger. “I have not been here a long time, but every inch of this place holds a memory dear to my heart. And they,” Freya says meaningfully, extracting her fingers out of Thor’s loose grip. “Will keep me company this night.”

Thor bows deeply, feeling a fleeting sense of disappointment at her refusal. “Then I wish you good night, my Lady. And may your memories bring you joy.”

She rises her hand slowly, her touch a featherlike caress against his right cheek. “And to you, my Lord Odinson. And may your chosen company for this night bring you joy. Whoever they might be.”

With that, she turns on her heel, leaving Thor to stare after her, her last words echoing loudly inside his mind.

_Whoever they might be._

******

Thor loses track of time after a while. Unsure whether it had been minutes or hours since Freya left him to seek out his pleasure for this night. He wanders aimlessly through the narrow streets, grateful that he is wearing only a pair of simple black breeches and a red tunic, and not his ceremonial armor. Not that villagers have any trouble in recognizing him, he towers over them at least by a head, but he fits better with the rest of them dressed as he is now. Whether it is due to the special brand of magic this village seems to have, his simple appearance, or the amount of alcohol already consumed, but they are looking at Thor as if he is but one of them, their eyes holding nothing of their usual mixture of fascination, trepidation and awe.

He had already had to turn down four offers, and he suspects there would be more come dawn. Or he could simply do what his blood demands, and seek out Brenna, and yet, whenever he gets near the village hall, his steps take him some other way. At this rate, come dawn, Thor will know the outline of this entire village by heart.

After once again ending on the town square, smiling as he shakes his head at the outstretched hand of a blond girl, beckoning him closer from a window, Thor takes the street furthest to the right, which, as it turns out, leads out of the village. It widens the further it stretches, and, unlike other parts of the village, this street feels almost abandoned, void of couples and their laughter.

Thor considers turning back when his gaze catches the sight of a truly massive tree, its trunk almost the size of one of the cottages, its branches that of a grown man. Thor takes a couple of steps toward it, intrigued, before he freezes on the spot, spotting a couple leaning against the trunk of the tree, partly obscured by its lower branches.

They are standing close – _too close_ – their hips almost touching as the taller one, who Thor would recognize even in a crowd of thousand people, draws intricate patterns in the air with his right hand. Thor is standing too far to discern the words, but he can hear a low, passionate murmur of his brother’s voice. It hits him with a strong pang of yearning and envy, the obvious closeness between Loki and that accursed elf, much like the one that existed between them, and Thor cannot even pinpoint the exact moment it had been replaced by resentment and envy.

He stands rooted to the spot, undecided. He wants to go forward and he wants to turn and go back, but he does neither, simply stands still and silent, observing what little he can see of Loki’s face, but there is no mistaking the relaxed and unguarded expression he wears.

Thor feels ridiculous, like an intruder spying an intimate moment between lovers, and he almost turns and leaves, when the elf’s hand rises, clasping Loki’s in his own, directing its movements. And Loki, his formal and reserved brother who loathes any kind of overly familiar behavior and public displays of affection, simply allows this stranger to guide his hand in slow, circular motions, making no move to extract his hand from his grip.

Thor’s heart skips a beat, his breathing coming out in uneven huffs as he wages a silent battle. He _knows_ what he ought to do, what is the wise thing to do, but his entire being is rebelling against the idea of simply turning his back on Loki and the elf. And wise is something he would never consider himself being. But then the elf makes the decision for Thor – casually, almost as if he had done it a hundreds of times, he brushes a stray lock of hair from Loki’s face, and Thor is moving before the thought even formed fully in his mind.

It takes him only five steps to reach the elf and spin him around, slamming him against the trunk of the tree. And away from Loki.

“You and I have unfinished matters to attend to, elf.” Thor growls, his fingers digging deep into the flesh of the elf’s shoulders. He takes deep gulps of air, trying to force some manner of control over himself, but it is hanging by a single strand, and all Thor wants is to tear this insolent creature to pieces, for reasons he cannot even begin to divine.

“Then name them, my Lord.” The elf says, nothing but calm control in his eyes and voice, and it only makes Thor’s blood run hotter, his fury an almost living presence in his chest. “And I would be happy to address them.”

Thor narrows his eyes into slits, his mouth opening around a curse, but it comes out as a growl of both anger and surprise as two strong hands wrap around his shoulders, pulling him back. Thor digs his feet deep, knowing that there is almost no one who can move him if he does not wish to be moved, but then he feels something, a power, like those hands are somehow joined by hundreds of others, pulling at Thor, dragging him away from his prey. Thor grits his teeth, a low curse falling from his lips, and now there is a flicker of unease for the first time on the elf’s face, but then the invisible power pulling at Thor yanks harder and Thor finds himself staggering back, his grip on the elf breaking, as Loki drags him deeper in the shadowed corner of the street and away from the elf.

Thor tries to fight, but whatever the magic Loki is using against him, makes his struggle futile. Thor grunts when his back collides with the wooden wall of one of the cottages, glaring at Loki, still stubbornly struggling against the invisible bonds holding him in place.

“Have you lost what little sense you possessed?!” Loki hisses, crowding Thor against the wall, his hot breath fanning Thor’s face, his eyes gleaming dangerously in the half-light, something almost demonic about them. “What were you thinking? Humiliating me in such manner?”

“What was _I_ thinking?” Thor sneers, his hands clenching into fists as he futilely tries to reach after Loki. As to what end, Thor cannot say. “I was not the one debasing myself with an elf for all world to see.” 

“ _Debasing myself_?” Loki repeats, incredulous, taking a step back. “Have you truly gone mad?”

“Release me, Loki.” Thor demands, stilling his struggle, settling for a heated glare at his brother. “Or you will regret it.”

Loki’s face hardens as he crosses his hands behind his back, his eyes boring into Thor’s. “No, I do not think I will.”

“ _Loki_.”

“No, you are staying where you are, and you will listen.” Loki says, ignoring Thor’s renewed struggle and the deadly threat in Thor’s eyes. “For once, you stubborn brute, your strength will not serve you, so cease your struggle and listen.”

Thor clenches his jaw together, his breaths coming out shallow and ragged, but no matter how much he tries, Loki’s words stand true – he cannot set himself free. With one last tug, he forces his body to relax, his eyes never leaving the lines of Loki’s face, the amount of helpless anger blazing inside his chest threatening to choke him with its intensity.

“I will not forget this, Loki.”

Loki’s mouth twitches, his lips curving into a sharp smile. “I am sure you will not. It is not often that you are rendered helpless, is it, Thor?”

Thor’s eyes narrow in response, but he stays silent, his muscles straining against the bonds, once again with the same result.

“Now, while I have your attention, I would like to make it clear that if you ever humiliate me like that again, I will turn you into a eunuch.”

Thor grits his teeth, but when he tries to free himself this time, he feels a tiny falter in the invisible bonds holding him in place. He bites on his lower lip to cover a smirk of triumph, re-doubling his efforts.

“You cannot keep me forever bound, Loki, so keep that in mind before making any threats.”

Loki’s smirk widens, turning positively wicked. “Perhaps I should keep you here the entire night.” Loki whispers, his low voice dripping with malicious glee. “The Mighty Thor, with all his strength… bound and helpless, by his cowardly brother no less.”

With a roar of fury, Thor pulls and this time he can feel a crackle of power as the invisible bonds holding him in place snap. It takes him less than a heartbeat to grab Loki and spin him around, slamming him against the wall, holding him in place by his own greater bulk.

“Now what?” Loki asks after a moment, completely unperturbed, as if he expected Thor to break free. “What punishment am I to receive for the sins I have committed only in your mind?”

Now what? Violence will not work on Loki, and all he could say will be undoubtedly twisted and thrown back to his face. So where that leaves him? Holding Loki prisoner the entire night?

Thor takes a deep, calming breath, grasping desperately for some more time to decide his course of action, but it only serves in filling his nostrils with Loki’s scent – clean and fresh, like crisp winter breeze – so different from the heady floral scent saturating the air. Following a sudden irrational, but no less unyielding because of it, impulse, Thor leans further, his face brushing Loki’s as he takes another deep breath, momentarily forgetting all about his anger, as Loki’s scent makes him remember the past, when he has held his younger brother in his arms as they slept in the same bed, and all was right with the world.

“Thor?”

Loki’s perplexed voice snaps him out of his memories, and Thor comes to his senses abruptly, becoming acutely aware of their bodies pressed tightly together and how it may make them seem to the outside world – like any of the couples Thor has seen this night, seeking a shadowed corner in which hands and lips can freely roam across the other’s skin.

Releasing his hold on Loki, Thor takes a step back as if burned, but there is a weight in the pit of his stomach that refuses to disappear, a tangled mess of shame, confusion and yearning. And Thor cannot even begin to unravel its existence.

“Honestly, Thor. What _has_ gotten into you tonight?” Loki asks, pushing himself off the wall. There is confusion and rather large amount of annoyance in his eyes and voice. “Why are you even wandering the streets alone? I thought at least half the village would be thrilled to welcome you to their bed.”

“And what about you, Loki?” Thor scowls, crossing his hands over his chest. “How thrilled are you to welcome that elf into _your_ bed?”

Loki’s eyes instantly narrow. “Who I welcome to my bed is hardly your concern, Thor.”

“What you do reflects on Asgard. And therefore it is my concern.”

Loki snorts, eying Thor with a mixture of disbelief, bitterness and something akin to hurt. “Already speaking in Asgard’ name, are we Thor? Need I remind you, once again, that you are not king yet.”

“I am your older brother!”

“And I am the brother who found you so drunk you could hardly remember your own name, let alone those of the women sharing your bed. And to this day, I have no idea how many were there with you.” Taking a deep breath, Loki comes closer, squaring his shoulders. “I could let Vidar mount me in the middle of this village’s square, and it still would not come close to the stories that have been told about you.”

Thor blinks away the images conjured by Loki’s heated words, impotent anger clawing at his insides. Loki speaks the truth and both are aware of it, and yet…

“You are not me.” Thor snaps, and the very moment those words leave his mouth, Thor wishes he could take them back.

Loki winces as if hit, his eyes widening, and for a long moment he says nothing, merely looks at Thor. Thor expects anger, curses and threats, perhaps even a blow, but all he receives is a low, humorless chuckle. “As if I could ever forget it.” Loki says, and Thor wishes he had hit him, because the amount of bitter resignation in it hurts far more.

Without another word or a second glance, Loki turns to leave, but Thor stops him by grabbing his wrist.

“Loki, I…”

“No.” Loki cuts him off, and there is a note of finality in his voice which not even Thor is ready to argue. “We will have words, brother. But not here, and certainly not now. Now, release me.”

And Thor does. He watches Loki leave and join the elf, feeling something he has not felt in a long time – feeling of complete and utter defeat.

Turning on his heel, Thor stalks in the opposite direction, his chest a battlefield of conflicting emotions, his thoughts incessant buzzing noise inside his mind, and he simply wants it to end. He is not Loki, he takes no enjoyment in trailing the winding paths of both pleasure and pain. He meets life head on, both in battle and amorous pursuits, but each time he attempts it with Loki their conflict deepens, each of them finding exactly the right weapon to twist deeper into the heart of their relationship.

He walks aimlessly, ignoring the laugher and other, baser, noises, coming from the darkened corners and opened windows, until he suddenly stops, now familiar sight of the largest building in the village rising in front of him.

He hesitates only a barest fraction of a moment before he strides inside. Save a few servants, whose knowing, interested gazes Thor ignores completely, the town hall is almost empty. He knows nothing of the inside of this building, but it takes him only two attempts to find the door leading to a large hall, now turned into a makeshift bedchamber for Freya’s handmaidens.

Brenna and only one other maiden are present – the one Thor recognizes as Loki’s shy, blonde companion – in the hall, and Thor wastes no time before striding over and grabbing Brenna by the hand and leading her out of the room. She allows him, with only a small frown of confusion on her face.

The moment the door shuts behind them, Thor grabs her face between his hands and brings their mouths together. He swallows her small gasp of surprise, inclining her head so he can deepen the kiss.

“Do you want this?” He asks in a low voice when they mouths separate, their bodies still pressed together, Thor’s fingers tangled in the dark locks of her hair. “Say no, if that is your will, but I wish to have you in my bed this night.”

A strange expression crosses her face, and for a moment, Thor is certain she will say no, but then she lifts herself on her toes, still barely reaching Thor’s lips.

“Yes.” She whispers against Thor’s lips.

With a low growl, Thor lifts picks her up in his hands, not caring about the sight they are presenting to those few curious eyes as he strides through the winding corridor en route to his chamber. This is a night in which all is allowed and shame and guilt do not exist. And even if it were not, his blood is running hot and demanding, and Thor has never been the one to deny himself that what he wants.

Thor tries to be gentle, but his fingers still manage to rip her garment in his haste to reach what lies underneath, his lips sucking bruises into the soft skin of her neck, the fire inside his blood fueling his impatience, his every touch a tad too rough, too possessive.

He takes her forcefully, burying his face in the crook of her neck, but the scent he inhales is not the one he searches for. Too sweet, honey and cinnamon, nothing like the cool, fresh scent he yearns after. Thor slows the movement of his hips, even if it takes him almost all his willpower, but she does not seem to mind the rough treatment, her legs only widening tighter around Thor’s waist, her nails leaving deep scratches all over Thor’s back, urging him on.

Afterwards, they lie tangled together, her head nestled against Thor’s chest while he gently cards his fingers through her hair, suddenly realizing that her hair is dark brown, not black.

And that, for some ineffable reason, leaves a bitter taste of disappointment in his mouth. 

******

The dinner feast on the eve of his and Loki’s departure is far from over, every second stretching seemingly into eternity, and Thor longs for it to simply end. But he does not allow his foul mood to show. He smiles and holds conversation with the old man on his left – a seasoned warrior, the tales of past battles still fresh in his mind – dutifully emptying cup after cup of mead, his gaze every now and again stealing toward the back of the great hall where Freya’s handmaiden sit.

The morning after the night he shared with Brenna, Thor had woken up alone in the bed, his breath coming out in shallow gasps as he struggled to hold onto the last tendrils of his dreams, a deep, bittersweet ache spreading through his chest like molten steel, but all that remained of his dream had been one small thing. A single color – green.

The ache of that morning still lingers in the back of his thoughts, but the cause of it remains forever lost in the dream Thor has no memory of, grating on his nerves, making him feel almost melancholic. A fitting end to the utter disaster Thor’s plans of mending the relationship with his brother had turned into.

“I fear happy memories will not be that which you will carry back to Asgard.”

Thor’s gaze flicks downward before it settles on Freya’s face, a small smile playing on his lips. Perhaps, he is not as successful as he believes in keeping his mood a secret. “I will carry nothing but pleasant memories of your home and company, my Lady.”

“Then why are there storm clouds in you gaze, Thunderer?”

Thor hesitates a moment. The truth is far too intimate, too close to his heart to share out loud. “We cannot always get what we want. No matter our plans or desires.”

Freya studies him in silence one long moment. “But there is still one night left before you depart. Perhaps, there is still time for you to have your heart’s wish granted.”

“In so little time?”

“Empires have been known to fall in mere moments, one night is a small eternity compared to that.”

Thor’s gaze flicks toward his brother, deep in conversation with one of the elders who Thor vaguely remembers from one of the meetings, his shoulders tensing instinctively, even as fierce joy shoots through him at the notable absence of that wretched elf near Loki. “I have had my hopes for this journey, but they are all but gone now.”

“You hardly seem as someone who accepts defeat with such ease.”

Thor chuckles. “I suppose it would depend on the strength of my opponent. There is no shame in an honorable defeat.”

“That, I cannot argue. Although, if the stakes are high enough, I would always rather cheat to gain victory.”

Thor blinks, startled, but her face is completely serious, the look in her eyes unreadable. “That weapon, I am afraid, is not among the ones in my arsenal.”

“If you intend to be a good king, you will have to make room for it.”

“Not every throne is built on lies and deceit.” Thor says, frowning.

Freya sighs, shaking her head. “Good man usually makes for a poor ruler.” She says, but at the darkening of Thor’s expression, adds with a soft, knowing smile. “There are exceptions, naturally.”

Thor frowns, her words calling forth the memory which stills stings as much as it did when Loki first spat the words about him being more deserving of throne than Thor in Thor’s face. And what if it is true? Thor will always be a better warrior than his brother, but rule is not about winning wars as it is about managing to avoid them. That had been one of the first lessons Odin had taught them when they were mere children.

“You will make a fine king one day, Thor.” Freya says softly as if reading his thoughts. “But that day is not tomorrow.”

Then, without a warning, she rises to her feet, lifting her goblet in Thor’s direction. “To good men and great kings.”

Following Freya’s example, everyone in the great hall rises to their feet one by one, and, soon, Thor remains the only one seated as every single person gathered brings their goblet to their lips, toasting Thor.

Thor is not a modest man, never has been, but there is a strange sensation building in his chest, somehow both humility and pride as he takes in the sight before him, his eyes slowly travelling across the crowd of faces until they come to rest on his brother, standing on the other side of the table, his face emotionless mask as he stares at the goblet in his hand as if deciding whether or not to bring it to his lips. Then, as if sensing Thor’s eyes on him, Loki looks up, a small flicker of a smile ghosting over his lips as he inclines his head in a small nod and slowly, ever so slowly, brings the goblet to his lips, all the while holding Thor’s gaze with his own.

******

After Freya takes her leave, Thor rises from his seat the moment the great doors close after her, but even as he takes the first step, he can see the familiar sight of Loki’s green cape disappearing in the distance.

Uttering a low curse, Thor hurries his steps, his focus narrowed on the ever shrinking form of his brother so he almost misses the sight of a feminine figure that steps into his path. Thor manages to stop himself from colliding with her, but only barely, his hands wrapping around her waist, steadying her.

An apology dies on his lips as he recognizes the face looking up at him, amusement twinkling in the blue eyes looking up at him. “I seem to recall this already happening.”

Thor chuckles, his eyes flicking in the direction his brother went just I time to see him turning round the corner, disappearing from view.

Forcing back an impatient sigh, Thor pulls Brenna to the side, finding a more intimate corner behind one of the pillars.

“And I have yet to regret it.” He smiles, his fingers still lingering on her waist. “For it has brought us together.”

Her face grows serious at that, perhaps even a little sad. “You are most kind, my Lord, but I have not sought you out in search of sweet lies and false promises.”

Thor frowns, feeling a sharp stab of something akin to guilt. “Then what is it I can offer you?” Thor ask softly, forsaking the words of courtship in favor of sincerity. “I would not offer an apology for what has happened between us, for I have enjoyed that night immensely.”

A small chuckle escapes her lips before she grows serious once again, her fingers rising to caress Thor’s cheek. “You could break my heart so easily were it not broken already.” She says, and Thor opens his mouth, but she stops him with her finger against his lips. “We have both enjoyed ourselves that night, Thor. There is no need for apologies. But I would ask a boon from you.”

“Anything.” Thor says, and he can almost see Loki’s exasperated expression in his mind at the careless way he gives his word, but he pushes the image back.

“Anything? What if I ask for Asgard?” She laughs.

“Then I would be obligated to present it to you.”

“My ambitions are not grand, my Lord Thor. I ask only for a small thing.”

“And what is it?”

She smiles, somehow both sultry and sad, and Thor feels another stab of guilt. Some other time, he could imagine himself easily growing very fond of her. “Only a kiss goodbye.”

******

Thor hesitates in front of his brother’s chamber, the bittersweet taste of Brenna’s lips still lingering in his mouth, wondering will he even be allowed through the wards Loki has set up around his chamber.

Bracing himself for potential explosion of pain, Thor pushes the door open. There is only the familiar tingle at the back of his neck – invisible fingers trailing across his naked skin – when he crosses the threshold, releasing a breath he had been holding, but the elation he feels turns to disappointment and something darker and uglier when he finds Loki’s room empty.

He stands still in the middle of a darkened room, his hands clenched tightly into fists. He can feel fury rising from the deep inside his chest as his mind is flooded with disconnected images of bodies entwined, of long fingers carding through dark hair…

His breath hitching, Thor swallows, his throat suddenly dry as sandpaper. He pushes the images away, back to the deep, dark corner of his mind. But even without them invading his senses, a sick, queasy feeling of shame and disgust lingers, along with the last, stubborn tendrils of his anger.

To which he has no right to, Thor realizes with sudden, painful clarity which shames him to the very core of his being. Loki often accuses him of acting without thinking, of allowing his anger to guide his hand. But he can rise above it, even if only to prove Loki wrong, to prove that he is not the mindless brute he sees him as. That he can and will be a good king.

He has had such high hopes for this journey, for mending the bridges between himself and Loki, but all he – them, because Loki holds as much blame as Thor – had managed to accomplish is to widen the gap between them.

Freya’s words come to him, unbidden. There is one night left. One night to set things right. So he takes a deep breath, and takes a seat in the far corner of the room, the one opposite to the door, and does the only thing he can, he waits.

******

When Loki returns, it is almost dawn, the first rays of light spilling through the opened window.

Thor goes rigid when Loki enters, but otherwise stays unmoving, trying to discern the expression on Loki’s face, but the faint light in the room only makes the shadows surrounding Loki seem all that darker.

A deep sigh breaks the silence in the room, but Loki makes no move to get away from the door, he remains nothing but a darkened silhouette, an even darker shadow among those already in the room.

Thor opens his mouth, but then he realizes he has no idea what he wishes to say to his brother, a nervous flutters tightening his throat, a feeling he has not experienced in centuries. 

“I knew I should have warded my room against you.” Loki sounds more tired than acerbic, and Thor cannot decide whether it is a good sign, or simply a prelude to a verbal lashing.

“I am grateful that you did not.”

Another sigh, but still Loki stays unmoving, far out of reach, as if he needs to put as much space between himself and Thor as he can. “What is it you wish to accuse me of now?” Thor winces at the bitter resentment in Loki’s words, but fights against his impulse to give in to anger. To attack. “Last that I recall, you all but called me a whore. What insult did you have in mind for tonight?”

“I have not come to fight you, brother.” Thor says, keeping his voice level.

A creak of leather followed by a mirthless chuckle sounds from the shadows. “And, yet, you seem to be doing that so well lately. Your good intentions notwithstanding.”

Thor instinctively leans forward, ignoring the increasing amount of venom in Loki’s words, almost desperately trying to make out the familiar lines of Loki’s face, this entire situation starting to seem surreal, and for a short, but horrifying, moment, Thor almost feels he is talking with a shadow of Loki, a mere illusion left to mock Thor, while the real Loki is somewhere far away. Far out of Thor’s reach.

Thor is on his feet and moving before the thought even completely forms inside his mind, and he stops a mere inches from Loki who holds himself very still now. Still and tense, as if expecting a battle. It feels almost like a blow, the wordless accusation of what their relationship has tuned into. Now, this close to Loki he can see the rising and falling of Loki’s chest, Thor stands undecided. He knows what he wants, but no matter how much he wants to reach out and pull his brother close, to wrap his arms around him, he also knows Loki would not welcome it.

“You have not stayed your own tongue, brother.” Thor says, instead. “And we both know who makes a better weapon out of words out of the two of us.”

“A mindless beast defends itself when attacked. You would have me do less?” Loki sneers, moving away from the door, but he doesn’t try to sidestep Thor, instead he all but closes the remaining distance between their bodies. The shadows dance across Loki’s pale face, his eyes burning with almost feverish fire. “I may not be the Mighty Thor, but there is some honor to my name, no matter how sparse.”

They stand like that a moment – unmoving, their gazes locked, their breaths mingling. Two fighters in a ring, both unwilling to either strike, or bow their head.

“Do you recall that time when we had first seen a draugr?” The question surprises Thor, much as it does Loki, the look of bewilderment on his face clear even in this poor lighting. Thor cannot say what brought that memory from the depths of his mind, but he can see it clearly now – two boys facing a skeletal figure, rags and bits of dried flesh still clinging to the creature’s bones, eerie blue flames filling its empty eye sockets.

Loki regards Thor silently, but his posture is less tense, less hostile. “What is it about Vanaheim that either agrees with you immensely, or turns to mush even that miniscule part of your brain you tend to use from time to time?” The corner of Thor’s mouth twitches faintly upwards. _This_ is familiar, his brother’s insult lacking venom, almost fond. The familiar terrain of pushing and pulling, always a fight but not the war it had been lately. “I cannot decide whether it is an improvement, or does it make you even more insufferable.”

“Do you recall it, Loki?” Thor insists, clenching his hands into fists to stop himself from reaching after his brother. Loki’s moods are mercurial at best, and the small amount of ground Thor has regained thin as freshly formed ice.

“How could I not?” Loki snorts. “One can hardly forget one’s first brush with death.”

Thor heard the whispers first – a malevolent spirit, dark magic, an accursed creature wandering the outskirts of Asgard – and even that he should not have. What came afterwards – foolish and reckless, and utterly dangerous – even now, centuries later, can still Thor’s lungs, turn his blood to ice as he remembers.

“I should have listened to you.” Thor says, and the admission comes easy for once, pride and self-assurance paling in the light of what could have been. Loki’s shadowed face is a carefully guarded mask now, but Thor can see suspicion warring with curiosity in his brother’s gaze.

“Of course you should have, but even then, you had to play the hero. Even then you did not even begin to think of the possible consequences of what you sought out to do.”

_“Thor, no! It is dangerous, and Father-”_

_“Come on, Loki! We do not have to get close to the creature to be seen by it.” Thor’s voice is brimming with excitement, with barely contained curiosity. “Think, brother! If we miss seeing it now, we might not get another opportunity in years.”_

_Loki’s face still holds an expression of worry and barely concealed fear, but Thor can see curiosity creeping its way into his brother’s eyes. “Thor, I have read of draugr.” Loki says, and Thor feels himself growing impatient. Loki and his books. How can he not see the opportunity that is presenting itself? All they need is seize it. “They are not of this world. Dark magic gives them life and they would only take ours.”_

_Fixing Loki with a defiant stare, Thor crosses his hands over his chest. “If you are too frightened, brother, I will go alone.” Thor says, and does not bother to hide a grin when Loki’s eyes flash in anger, his shoulders squaring._

“I tricked you into coming with me. I should not have done that.”

“You should not have gone to see it in the first place.” Loki snaps, exasperated, but his lips twist into a smirk. “You honestly think that even then you would ever be capable of manipulating me into doing something against my will?”

“So why did you come?” Thor asks. “Even then, you knew better. You knew the true nature of what we would be facing.”

Deliberately or not, Loki takes a small step backward, just enough for the shadows to obscure his face completely. “I was foolish and almost as curious as you.” A beat, then, in a softer voice. “And I did not want to appear a coward to my older brother. A miscalculation on my part, that.”

“I recall no cowardice from you on that day, Loki.”

“Then your memory is poor, brother.” It is difficult to discern the emotion in Loki’s voice, and impossible to see his face, but there is something in it which makes Thor’s stomach twist painfully. “You were unafraid, naturally. Idiotic, considering what you were facing, but brave nonetheless.”

A small smile tugs the corners of Thor’s lips. “You are very much mistaken, brother.” He says, the memory of the near paralyzing fear clear as it has happened a mere day ago. “I have never been more afraid than that day.”

“Most people run from what they fear, they do not confront it head on.” Loki scoffs. “But you are not most people, are you, Thor?”

Thor ignores the bite in Loki’s words. “I feared the creature, Loki, I feared for my life, but there was something I feared even more.” He says, each word somehow lessening the heavy weight on his soul. Weight that has been gathering for some time now. Anger, resentment, misunderstanding, all losing importance when compared to an emotion far stronger than all other combined – _love_.

“And what could possibly strike fear into the heart of the Mighty Thor Odinson? When even death could not?”

_Thor has never felt fear acutely as he is feeling it now – like a cold, twisting serpent, coiling around his insides, making him gasp for breath as his heart beats its frantic rhythm against his chest._

_He has made a terrible mistake. Loki had been right, and now… The creature stands utterly still for one long moment, the wheezing sounds coming from it a horrific parody of breath. Or laugh, Thor cannot tell. The torn rags that must have been robes once, long time ago, whip in the wind, and Thor feels strangely fascinated with its movement until the creature’s hideous skull tilts to the side, almost thoughtful, as if assessing the potential threat. Or choosing its prey. And then it moves, one skeletal hand outstretched, its bony fingers curling like a claw and reaching after…_

… Loki.

_It is not a conscious decision, but instinct, a force stronger than reason, more potent than fear, which urges Thor to move, to stand in front of his brother, armed with nothing but his own strength, a lone thought filling his heart with deadly determination – to give Loki enough time to flee._

_“Run, Loki!” Thor says, sounding urgent. A muffled gap from tears itself from his brother’s throat, but other than that, Loki stays still, his eyes wide as he gazes at the creature as it slowly creeps toward them, his eerie eyes locked firmly on Loki even as Thor stands in front of Loki, shielding it with his own body. His life. “Loki, run, I will keep it occupied.” He repeats, his voice dissolving into panic and desperation as he shoves at his younger brother who seems almost mesmerized by the creature’s slow progress, his green eyes wide and glazed over._

Loki remains in the shadows, his body as still as it had been that day so long ago. Thor feels no such need, he keeps the truth of his feelings plain on his face, and in the tender touch of his fingers as they curve about Loki’s neck – protective, possessive and tentative all at once. “I feared losing _you_ , Loki, much more than losing my life.”

And he would have lost him, along with his own life had it not been for the arrival of Odin, both magnificent and terrible in his wrath. First at the creature, and, afterwards, at his wayward sons.

“Never mind my earlier words, this climate has affected you most poorly. It made you annoyingly maudlin.” Loki’s words come out exasperated, but Thor can only grin at that. Because no matter his words, Loki has made no move to get away from Thor’s hand, still resting comfortably on the back of his brother’s neck. “It suits you ill.”

“I have missed your absence most keenly, brother.” Thor whispers, his grip tightening, but he resists the urge to pull Loki into a hug, settling for a soft, feather-like caress of his thumb against the soft skin underneath his hand.

“I have not gone anywhere, Thor.” Loki says. “I have been where I’ve been my entire life. A step behind you, brother.”

“I do not… that is not what I want.” Thor frowns, his fingers tightening on the back of Loki’s neck as if to prove the truth of his sentiment. “I want you by my side, brother. I… I _need_ you here.”

A beat, two, three, but the silence is only response to Thor’s fervent admission. Then, when Thor is considering foregoing all caution and restraint to the wind, and simply dragging Loki from the shadows, Loki takes a step forward, releasing a deep breath.

“Is that truly what you wish?” The look on Loki’s face is borderline unreadable, cautious, despite the softness of his voice. “A coward and an honorless trickster by your side?” Thor grimaces, the accusation somehow carrying more weight when said in that deceptively soft tone. “A whore?”

Thor swallows against the bile rising in his throat, willing himself to remain calm. “I have been callous with my words lately, Loki, but I am not the only one at fault here.” Thor says firmly, his eyes fixed on Loki’s eyes, his fingers reluctant to break the contact with the soft skin on the nape of his brother’s neck. “You have shown more trust and kindness to a complete stranger than to your own brother.”

Loki’s lips twist into a bitter smile. “And why should I not? When the stranger showed me more respect and interest in what I have to say than my brother ever did?”

“That is a lie, Loki, and you know it.” Thor says, the words not as calm or level as Thor would like them to be, both anger and hurt worming their way into his voice. And Thor hates it. Hates the way Loki can twist everything until it becomes ugly and hurtful, an accusation against Thor has no defense against. Only anger. 

“Is it, Thor? Truly?” Loki asks, and there is a flash of something akin to triumph in his eyes even as there is nothing remotely joyful in the curve of his lips. And _that_ calms Thor more effectively than any false admission of Loki’s ever could.

Taking a step back, he lets his hand fall from Loki’s neck. “I have already said I have no desire to fight you.” Thor says calmly, and for the first time there is something raw and vulnerable in Loki’s expression. Uncertain. Allowing himself a small smile, Thor adds. “I wish for peace between us, Loki. And I stand by my words – there is no one I would rather have by my side than you, brother.”

With that, Thor turns on his heel, intent on leaving. It is not the reconciliation he had hoped for, a battle not lost, but far from won. He is almost by the door, when he is stopped by his brother’s low voice.

“You would have died that day.” A statement, not a question, spoken with awe and exasperation in equal measure. “In a futile attempt of giving me time to run.”

Thor feels a rueful smile flicker across his face, as he stands still, his back still turned. “I could think of no better reason for giving up my life.” Turning slowly, his face grows serious, his words a vow. “Neither then, nor this day.”

“Fool.” Loki says, and even if Thor cannot see Loki’s face clearly – too far and obscured in shadows – he knows Loki well enough to understand the hidden meaning in that lone word. “Your heart will be your undoing, you must know that.”

“That is why I have you, brother.” Thor says – asks – softly. “To prevent such fate from coming to pass.”

A moment of silence, then. “That you do, brother.” Loki sighs, as if this admission costs him more than he is willing to pay, but cannot help himself regardless. “That you do.”

******

Loki eyes him with a mixture of suspicion and disbelief. “You have never been prone to bouts of melancholy, Thor.” He says, sounding somewhat annoyed. “Honestly, brother, what had occurred here to inspire such a change in you?”

Surprisingly, it had not been a hardship persuading Loki to accompany him to the hidden lake he had found in his first days on Vanaheim. It had been an instinctive decision, even if he had entertained the idea of it when he had first fund the place. To Thor’s immense satisfaction and not a small amount of surprise, Loki agreed. With only a token amount of protest and mocking. Whatever understanding they have reached only a few hours prior, it still stands firm, giving Thor hope the journey home will be far more peaceful than their journey to Sessrúmnir had been. 

Thor throws a sideways glance at his brother, who looks stiff and uncomfortable as he takes in his surroundings, a frown creasing his forehead as his fingers linger hesitatingly over one of the bushes. Thor suppresses a laugh at the cautious way Loki eyes the red flowers.

“Those are but flowers, Loki. Not an enemy in disguise.”

Loki throws him a nasty look before re-focusing his attention back to the flowers. “This is not Asgard, Thor. Magic flows in this realm, and this…” Loki inclines his head toward the bushes, the frown on his face deepening. “Is not the work of nature. It is not malevolent, though.” He adds when Thor’s expression goes from amused to battle ready in a heartbeat. A small flicker of green shines from Loki’s fingers, disappearing almost immediately, his expression turning to one of annoyance. “Whatever magic had been used in this place, I am unfamiliar with it, but it is no threat to us.” Pausing, Loki casts a long, assessing look Thor’s way. “How did you even find this place, Thor?”

“I needed time to reflect on something.” At Loki’s snort and raised eyebrows, Thor merely smiles. Even if the smile does not reach his eyes. “I do that occasionally, Loki. No matter your opinion.”

Abandoning his inspection of the flowers, Loki joins Thor on the very edge of the lake, their reflections – light and dark, a startling contrast on the crystal clear surface of the water – divided only by a tiny fraction of space.

“And what did my brother needed reflecting on?” The tone is light, teasing, Loki’s small smile looking strangely soft reflected on the lake’s surface. Perhaps, Loki is correct, and there is magic at work here. Magic which makes this place seem like a sanctuary, a place of peace and hidden truths coming to light. Truths that would stay hidden in another place.

“I intend to rule wisely, Loki.” Thor says, the words both a promise and a vow. He does not turn to gaze at his brother, not that he needs to. He can see the look of dismay flickering across Loki’s face quite clearly on the water’s surface. “I regret the throne has become a shadow between us, but I will not step aside. Not even for you.” Loki stands completely still, his face now an emotionless mask, his reflection looking at Thor blankly. “I do want you by my side. As a friend and a counselor. Someone I trust with my life. But if you… if you cannot…”

Thor does not finish the sentence, the words dissolving into ash inside his mouth. A flare of anger – at Loki for poisoning what has been his life’s longest dream, and even at himself for allowing it happen – flickers briefly to life inside him only to be extinguished when Loki steps forward with a small, rueful smile on his lips, his eyes unusually solemn.

“You're my brother and my friend. Sometimes I'm envious, but never doubt that I love you.” Loki says softly, words Thor says easily and often, but had not heard his brother say in a long time.

_Far too long._

A smile slowly spreads across Thor’s face and he cups the back of Loki’s neck lightly, allowing the familiar gesture to speak for him. He feels warmth building from the pit of his stomach and spreading to his chest, until its only relief and elation he feels, laughter bubbling behind his closed lips. Freya had been right, in the end. A lot can happen in one night. Empires can fall, and Thor can have his younger brother back.

A thought occurs to him then, sudden and wild and carefree, his smile morphing into a grin, as his eyes flick briefly over Loki’s shoulder. Loki blinks, but the confusion on his face turns quickly to alarm.

“Thor, don’t you dare…”Loki starts, but the rest of his sentence morphs into an undignified squeak when Thor picks him up and tosses him backward, the look of startled disbelief the last thing Thor sees on his brother’s face before Loki disappears beneath the lake’s calm surface.

Thor waits a beat, a smug smile playing in on his lips, for Loki to emerge from underneath the water, and when he does – his hair plastered to his face, sputtering curses at Thor, annoyance and shock clear on his face, Thor knows what is about to happen even before Loki’s expression turns calculating and his right hand rises above water, making a small gesture, the familiar green light spilling from his fingers.

The water is pleasantly fresh, not overly cold. It is surprisingly deep, though, and Thor allows himself to sink down, even if the invisible tendrils of Loki’s magic released their hold the moment Thor’s body hit the water.

Closing his eyes, Thor grants himself a moment of peace underneath the water, feeling like he is a boy again – careless and free. When he dives back up, he releases the laughter that has been stuck in his throat, blinking back the wetness from his eyes.

“You idiot!” Loki hisses, floating only a few feet away from Thor, looking very much like a displeased cat. “You could have waited until I had my clothes off.”

“Have you no adventuring spirit, Loki?” Thor only laughs louder, and swims closer to Loki.

“Just for this, I should leave you to ride back in your wet clothes.” Loki’s lips turn up into a grin. “The sight could even force Heimdall to make an actual expression were you to appear like a drowned rat before him.”

Thor only grins, his head disappearing beneath the water, only to reappear right next to Loki, wrapping his hands around his brother’s shoulders, intent on pushing Loki below water. But at that exact moment Loki rolls his eyes, and flicks his wrist, making their clothes disappear, dissolving the last barrier between their bodies.

The world stills suddenly.

They have bathed naked together countless of times, both as boys and adults. Thor knows the shape and texture of his brother’s naked body almost as his own, but never before had the innocent, accidental brush against his brother’s naked body sparked a gnawing, desperate hunger in the pit of his stomach. It does now, the force of it stealing the breath from Thor’s lungs, his fingers twitching with desperate need to pull his brother even closer, to erase the remaining space between their bodies. 

Thor has never been one to lie to himself, but as images start to rise from the darkened corners of his mind – Loki wet, staring at him with wide eyes, and then still and rigid against Thor’s body as Thor holds him captive – everything becomes painfully, horrifyingly clear to him. His jealousy of that elf, his possessive claim over Loki, his confusing reactions to Loki’s proximity. All that Thor did not care to think twice about.

Every little detail falls into place, revealing a soul shattering, but, somehow, inescapable truth.

“Thor? Is something the matter?” Loki asks, sounding uncertain, looking young and vulnerable, and so very beautiful like this – wet, relaxed and unguarded. But the confusion in his eyes will soon undoubtedly turn to something far more dangerous, and Thor cannot imagine Loki, who has ever been able to read his mind like an open book, incapable of prying this truth – as enormous as it is terrible – from his mind. “ _Brother_?” 

Thor only smiles in response, the softly spoken word slicing at his heart like a knife. Even if he had an answer to offer, he would not be able to force the words past the lump in his throat. Pushing himself back, and putting much needed distance between their bodies, Thor finds himself for the first time experiencing the need to both laugh and cry at the same time, instead he settles for a holding on to the smile still stretching his lips – weak and false as it is – which only makes Loki tilt his head in rising suspicion, so Thor does the only thing he can – he dives down, hiding his face from Loki’s inspecting eyes.

It is as close to cowardice as Thor has ever come, and everything inside him rebels against it, but never before has he faced a foe as formidable as the one he is facing now – his own self.

Because, somehow, at some point in his life, Thor’s heart has made an unforgivable error, without Thor noticing its intentions, wrong and forbidden as they are. He loves his brother, always have, more dearly than any other living soul, and that is nothing new to Thor. But the gut wrenching realization of being _in love_ with him is.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all who are taking the time to read this fic, it means much to me, even if this fic is something I am writing for myself, to see can I actually finish a story of this magnitude. I hope you will not be disappointed.

Loki swallows a growl of frustration, the paper crumbling in his clenched fist as he brings the heel of his other hand to his face, pressing tightly. As if that simple act could rein in his wandering thoughts.

His notes lie scattered all over his desk, angry black lines drawn over the words, a sure sign of his failing concentration. What should be an easy task is slowly but surely turning into a battle Loki cannot seem to win. The more he tries to get the notes accumulated in Vanaheim in order, the less success he has, his thoughts rebelling against his will and following a well-known path which somehow always ends in the same place.

_Thor._

Rising to his feet, Loki resist the urge to set fire to his notes, and stalks to the balcony, suddenly desperate to feel the sunlight on his face and breathe the fresh air. He blames it on his recent journey to Vanaheim, because he has never been terribly fond of open spaces. He has always preferred staying indoors. Much more opportunities to blend with the shadows and observe unnoticed. He also blames this newfound desire on Thor and his ridiculous sentimentality, the memory of that hidden lake tugging his lips upwards despite his increasingly foul mood.

Then again, somehow, Thor is to blame for most things in Loki’s life. Both good and bad. And now, much to Loki’s chagrin, he is hiding something, Loki is certain of it. And, what is infinitely worse, he is being successful at it. A few weeks ago, Loki would laugh at any man’s face for daring to propose such a preposterous thing, but ever since Vanaheim, his older brother has been behaving most peculiar, a shadow of something darkening his gaze, and Loki loathes not knowing what it is.

Three days have passed since their return from Vanaheim, and Thor, despite their reconciliation, has been intent in avoiding him. Just as ardently as he had been hounding Loki’s steps when Loki wanted nothing more than place at least a realm between them, behaving as if there is something in Loki’s presence which frightens him. Which should be impossible, because Thor, bless his simple berserker soul, has never been afraid of anything. And even if he had, it has never stopped him from trying to smash it into dust. But never made him want to run and hide.

And now, through some truly ironic twist of fate, Thor had decided to apply that tactic in regards to Loki in the exact moment in time when Loki can actually tolerate the great fool’s presence. Were it not a source of increasing frustration, it would be amusing to watch Thor trying – poorly – to keep his distance from Loki and not be overly obvious about it.

Taking a deep breath, Loki leans against the cool marble railing, letting his gaze drift aimlessly over the small figures down in the distance, resigning himself to yet another unproductive day, when his gaze catches on one of the figures – a still, fixed presence in the sea of moving bodies, too far for Loki to discern the expression on the face gazing up, staring…

… _at him_.

His breath hitches in his throat, and he has already made two steps back before his mind catches up with his body, forcing it to still, annoyed grimace twisting his features.

He had never backed down before his brother, not even when he had played a dangerous game of trying to see just how far he could push Thor before his brother abandoned all pretense of control. So why now? When he is but a dark shape to his brother much as Thor is a red and blue one to him, when there is no need for masks or careful control over his conflicting emotions regarding his brother.

Vanaheim has somehow changed the rules of the game between them. And now Loki is as much in the dark as Thor had been once upon a time, and that… that is simply unacceptable.

But digging up secrets and acquiring forbidden knowledge are what Loki is exceptionally skilled at.

Loki is only mildly surprised when there is only an empty spot where Thor stood moments ago when he finally returns his attention to the courtyard below his balcony.

But he is more than mildly annoyed at the deep sense of loss he feels at his departure.

******

Loki corners Thor in the long corridor leading to Thor’s private chambers.

A part of him is greatly amused at the startled way Thor’s eyes go wide in momentary panic, but the larger part of him is simply annoyed at having to skulk about the halls, just so he could catch his brother unawares.

“Loki, what… what are you doing here?” Thor asks, his voice only slightly hitching on the words, but Loki notes the way Thor’s eyes flick sideways, as if he is searching for an exit.

“If I did not know better, I would say you have been avoiding me, brother.” Loki says lightly, his eyes fixed on Thor’s face.

“You have often accused me of being selfish and inconsiderate when I sought your company against your will. I am merely trying to heed your wishes, Loki.” Thor smiles, an honest smile, without even a smallest trace of deception, making Loki’s brow crease in a frown. Could he be wrong in his suspicions? Could this be Thor’s lumbering attempt at appeasing Loki? But no, he decides, Thor could not have gone through such a drastic change solely in order to keep this tentative peace between them alive. He has no aptitude for patience and self-restraint. At least not for longer periods of time. But mere days ago, Loki would not believe Thor capable of keeping secrets from him.

Thor is looking at Loki expectantly, as if he is waiting for Loki’s inevitable retreat. But Loki only folds his hands behind his back, inclining his head to the side. “If I had known how well Vanaheim would affect your temper, brother, I would have found a way to take you there decades ago.”

Thor snorts. “I see it has not softened yours, brother.”

Loki allows himself only a brief smirk, Thor giving him the perfect opening for his next words. “But it has. That is why I am here. To spend some time with my brother.” Thor blinks, frowning as if he doubts Loki’s words. “How often has that happened before Vanaheim?”

A moment passes in silence before Thor’s frown softens into that damned bright smile that has everyone swooning before him. “How is it that your desires somehow always turn out to be the exact opposite to my actions?” Thor says, soft and amused, the blue of his eyes conveying nothing but tenderness.

Loki’s lips twitch, then curve into a smile despite Loki. “It is a talent, I suppose.” He shrugs.

Thor releases a soft chuckle, shaking his head, and for a moment, nothing is amiss, and not even Loki can find it in himself to deride this relaxed moment between them. Thor rises his hand, and Loki already knows what he is about to do, what his brother has already done countless times, but it does not happen. Instead of curving itself Loki’s neck, Thor’s hand lingers briefly in the space between them, before falling back by Thor’s side, that illusive shadow darkening Thor’s gaze for a briefest of moments. Not nearly long enough for Loki to determine its nature.

Loki’s eyebrows shoot up, but before he can say anything, Thor is already moving, and Loki has to hasten his steps to catch up with him. They walk in silence side by side, and Loki is once again struck by the sheer difference in their appearance. They are almost the same height, but all similarities end there. With his slender build, dark hair and pale complexion, he had always been but a shadow to the golden splendor of his older brother. He probably always will be, no matter how powerful I his own way he becomes, or how quick his mind is.

“Where are we going?” Loki asks, swallowing against the bitterness gathered in his mouth, pushing back those thoughts back. Now is hardly the time for picking at that particular wound.

Thor throws him another look which clearly states his reluctance to believe in Loki’s sincerity. “Not that I doubt you brother, but I seem to recall a number of times when your amiable conduct had been followed by something humiliating.”

Loki rises his eyebrows in mock offence. “And here I thought we have made our peace, Thor.”

“We have not been at odds any of those times when you made me a target of your mischief.” Thor states bluntly. “That is why I am concerned.”

Thor is, strictly speaking, correct. All his little jests, humiliating as they were, have never been meant to harm. Only amuse. “If I swear to be at my utmost best, will that ease your mind?” Loki offers. And, even if he knows it will not come to that, he is willing to give his word. He does not actually mean to cause any mischief, he only needs to have his eyes on Thor.

Thor blinks, an expression of guilt crossing over his face. “No, of course not. It is merely…” But whatever Thor wanted to say, he decides against it, sighing in resignation. Even if the corners of his lips are twitching in the beginning of a smile. “Very well, Loki. We are meeting Fandral and Volstagg for a drink.”

Loki almost groans. He did not count on other people being present. Especially those two people. Especially in a tavern. Loki almost decides against following Thor. There will surely be another opportunity to get Thor alone so he could discern if his brother’s recent odd behavior is not a mere figment of Loki’s overly active mind. 

By the smug look on Thor’s face, he knows exactly how close Loki is to reneging on his word. Which, naturally, means Loki cannot.

“It has been quite some time since I had the pleasure of their joint company.” Loki says, a wide, light, and entirely false smile curving about his lips. To Thor’s credit, if he is surprised, he does not let it show. If anything, he manages to look even smugger. “It might even prove to be entertaining.”

And it might, if for no other reason that the look on Volstagg’s face when he sees Loki.

“I am sure they have missed your company, brother, as I have.” Thor smiles. “It has been a lot quieter since you stopped joining us on hunts and celebrations afterwards.”

Loki throws a sideways glance at Thor, and by the earnest, and not a small amount wistful, look on his face, he is speaking the truth. Or what he believes to be one. With Thor, it is a vital distinction. Especially in regards to Loki.

“With Volstagg and Fandral in the same place, I highly doubt _that_.” Loki snorts. “And you are scarcely model of restraint and temperance, brother.”

Thor grins. “That might be true. But we have only once been banned from ever entering a village under the penalty of death, and it all started as a dare you incited. Shall I remind you of that, brother?”

Loki grimaces. Oh, yes, Alfheim. That has hardly been one of his finer moments. It had all started innocently, with him suggesting casting a glamour on their group as they entered a small village, but it escalated rather quickly after they entered a tavern. Fandral and Thor began competing for the attention of a feisty redhead, who turned out to be the chieftain’s very young wife, Loki started an all-out argument about the local hero, whose statue stood proudly on the village square, and it all ended rather undignified – with them running out of the village, followed by an angry mob. To this day, Loki cannot believe Thor opted to run, instead staying and fighting. They were but simple farmers, and the five of them – Sif was absent that time – would have no trouble defeating them.

“I wonder what they would say if they knew just who they run out of their village.” Loki muses, and he can easily picture the horror of those simpleminded villagers. Quirking his eyebrows, he grins mischievously at Thor. “But that had been so long ago, I doubt they are even alive. Perhaps we could find out how well received would we be the second time?”

Thor shakes his head, laughing. “That would depend entirely on how well behaved would you be.”

“I share less than half responsibility for that fiasco. Whatever remains is yours and Fandral’s.”

Thor merely shakes his head once again, but stays silent, directing his attention to navigating the narrow, winding streets. Loki blinks, his grin faltering when he realizes he did not even notice when they existed the palace, his attention focused solely on the memory of the familiar rakish grin of his brother on an entirely different face. It had been a good day, Loki realizes. Despite their undignified run, now, when he thinks about it, the day had ended with them all laughing out loud in the middle of a dirt road, Thor grinning at him as if they have felled a mighty beast, not enraged an entire village.

Pressing his lips tighter, Loki curses himself inwardly. Sentimentality. A foolish weakness Loki has always thought himself above. But, as it seems, two weeks in Vanaheim were enough to make him question many of things that he previously thought to be set in stone.

“How did your conversation with Father go?” Loki asks, half because he needs to know and half because he wants to be rid of the sound of laughter still ringing inside his mind. He will undoubtedly have his own private conversation with Odin regarding Vanaheim and Thor’s conduct there. _That_ is one conversation Loki would prefer to postpone indefinitely. Or until he sorts his own mind about what will he say to their father.

Thor’s gaze flicks toward him, and Loki can see hesitation there. “It went well.” Thor says finally, and Loki stops himself from rolling his eyes in exasperation.

“I do hope you are not trying to spare my feelings, Thor.” Loki says, lightly, but his eyes hold a note of warning. This new, confusing Thor is already annoying without having him pity Loki, of all things. “I am hardly a delicate maiden. And I have knowledge of enough spells to make you regret even thinking of me as such.”

Thor halts his steps abruptly, almost making Loki crashing into him, Thor’s fingers wrapped firmly around Loki’s biceps before Loki has a chance to even register Thor moving. Thor’s eyes hold a hint of an approaching storm as they rest on Loki’s.

“What I am trying, brother, is to keep us from returning to that day when you held a dagger at my throat.” Thor all but growls, frustration evident in his every feature. “But you are the most contrary creature I have ever seen. Whatever I do, or say, it is the opposite you demand of me.”

Loki blinks, still stunned from Thor’s abrupt change in mood, but even more so by the simplistic – and rather impractical – logic behind Thor’s words. It takes him all his will not to burst into incredulous laughter. _This_ is Thor’s secret? This is what has kept Loki’s thought from focusing on matters of far greater importance – Thor’s blundering attempt at appeasing him? “That is the reason you have been avoiding me? To prevent us from coming to odds again?”

“Yes!” And this time it is a growl – of exasperation, helplessness, and even something which seems like despair – that leaves Thor’s throat, and Loki cannot help himself anymore – he laughs.

Thor frowns, confusion on his face rapidly turning to anger as he releases his hold on Loki, taking a step back. “You can stop that any time now, Loki.” Thor says after a moment, and the mixture of hurt and warning in his voice only makes Loki want to laugh more, but he manages to rein himself in.

“That… that is actually the most ridiculous thing you have ever said.” Loki says, a trace of laughter still is his voice. “And I do have a lot of material to choose from.”

The muscle in Thor’s jaw twitches, his eyes darkening as he folds his hands across his chest. “Is now the moment where you call me a fool, brother?” Thor says, but – to Loki’s surprise – he sounds more resigned than angry. “For acting out of sentiment?”

“But you are a fool.” Loki says, growing serious, and in any other moment he would loathe himself for the surge of tenderness he feels in that moment for his overly-dramatic, sentimental, foolish older brother. He considers reaching after his brother, his hand starting to rise almost of its own volition, but he resists the familiar gesture, remembering they are standing in the middle of a street, already making a scene. “There are far more sensible ways of achieving that which you seek.”

“And what are they?”

Loki hesitates a moment. They have had this conversation many times so far, but never like this. Never without anger and insults. And never before has Loki felt as vulnerable as he is now, about to ask what he had demanded so many times before. “How about respect, Thor? Can you stop looking at me as your younger brother and see your equal?”

Thor studies him silently, the expression on his face softening with each passing second. He uncrosses his hands and moves closer. Loki snorts lightly, but the sound freezes on his lips when, instead of his neck, Thor cups his jaw. “I will never not see my younger brother when I look at you, Loki.” Thor says, sounding both sad and wistful, and Loki suddenly feels uncomfortable, as a sensation of both dread and anticipation wells inside his chest. This situation seems almost surreal, so similar, and yet so different from all those other times Thor has sought to touch him. Neither the soft touch of his brother’s hand, nor the burning intensity in Thor’s eyes are familiar. Almost, but not quite the brotherly affection Loki is used to. “No matter how much time passes or where Norns take us, you will always be my younger brother.” A memory stirs in the back of Loki’s mind, vivid and powerful, Loki can almost feel his own wet garments clinging to his skin. A panicked voice inside his head advises caution and warns of danger ahead, but Loki finds himself caught immovable in Thor’s gaze, his heart hastening its rhythm until its sound almost drowns out the low murmur of Thor’s voice. “And I have never seen you as less than my equal. Even if my words suggested otherwise. I swear to you, brother.”

Sometime between the initial touch and now, Thor’s thumb has started brushing lightly against Loki’s jaw. Initially, Loki paid it no mind, too caught up in the words and the single-minded focus of those familiar blue eyes. But he is all too aware of it now – the warmth and the gentleness of his brother’s hand on his face – as he is aware of the almost overpowering need to lean into that touch, like a man starving for affection.

In the end, it is that impulse, and not the sound of children’s laughter, which pulls Loki out of his reverie, making him take a step back and away from Thor’s touch. Thor’s hand stays suspended in the air one moment before it falls dejectedly by Thor’s side, the look in Thor’s eyes a turbulent mixture of so many emotions, but there is one emotion there that does not belong in the eyes of his brother. It is inextricably twined with the others, all too easy to miss were it not for the fact Loki is searching for it. 

Thor blinks, then smiles, and a detached part of Loki’s mind – the one not stunned into shocked disbelief – is impressed with how fast Thor schools his expression back into something appropriate, but the damage – and the very thought makes Loki bite on his lower lip to stop himself from laughing hysterically – is already done, and Loki cannot believe how blind he had been, how he had missed reading the signs Thor had all but made obvious by his conduct in Vanaheim.

Though, perhaps not blind. Merely angered and hurt by Thor’s arrogance and disrespect, by his blatant refusal to accept Loki as he is… but it is not that, either. It is the sheer impossibility of it. Not even Loki, with his endless supply of suspicion and cynicism, could even begin to imagine Thor – the perfect, infallible, loved and admired by all Thor – harboring lust for his own brother.

Even the thought seems ludicrous, and were it so, or not, it certainly needs further evidence, and not silent contemplation in the middle of a crowded street, with Thor starting to look suspiciously at _him_.

“We are giving the good people of Asgard something to gossip about, brother.” Loki says, the easy smile coming to him effortlessly. “And the more we tarry, the more mead Volstagg will have time to drink before we arrive. And if listening to him sober is a chore, listening to his drunken ramblings demands far too much effort.”

“Loki.” Thor says, amused and a tad admonishing, the familiar smile playing on his lips, but Loki cannot see it the same way as before, now knowing what it hides. “You promised to behave.”

“I did, did I not?” Loki feigns a long-suffering sigh, never before as thankful for his effortless sliding into any given role as he is now. But the leaden weight of his recent realization stays wedged in the pit of his stomach. “I suppose I will have to be on my best behavior then.”

Thor laughs, throwing his hand around Loki’s shoulder, and even if it is nothing but an innocent gesture of brotherly affection, Loki cannot suppress a shiver which crawls up his spine, even if he cannot determine the cause of it.

But even if he cannot pinpoint exact emotion behind his sudden fluttering heartbeat, what he can determine is what it is _not_ – disgust.

******

The look on Volstagg’s face when Loki steps behind Thor when they finally arrive at the tavern is, as expected, priceless.

Sputtering his mead, Volstagg’s eyes go comically wide. “Loki, this… this is an unexpected…”

“The word you are searching for is pleasure, Volstagg.” Loki offers acerbically, taking a seat across the table from Fandral.

“I wouldn’t go that far.” Volstagg half-grumbles into his tankard. “Surprise, certainly.”

Thor chuckles. “Peace, you two.” He says, pulling Fandral into a brief hug. “This is a joyous occasion and it demands us to drink large amounts of mead. And _afterwards_ you two can go on bickering. If you are still able to.”

Volstagg salutes Thor, then proceeds to dawn the entire content of his tankard, before standing up and pulling Thor into a bone-crushing hug.

“What, no hugs from you, Loki?” Fandral asks with a quirk of his eyebrow.

“But it is never only a hug when you are involved, Fandral.” Loki counters, his voice honey sweet. Thor’s head whips in his direction, a frown creasing his forehead, and Loki feels a foolish urge to flirt with Fandral just to see Thor’s reaction, but he cuts off that train of thought. This is a dangerous ground, not only for Thor, and there is still a chance Loki is misinterpreting everything. “And you are not my type.”

Fandral inclines his head in mock contemplation. “Do you even have a type?”

Loki waves over the barmaid, allowing himself a small, noncommittal smile. “Everyone has one, Fandral. Admittedly, most a tad more specific than your rather generous type which consists of anything that walks.”

“Oh, now I must know.” Fandral grins, leaning back in his chair, a slow, lazy smirk appearing on his lips. Strangely, Loki finds himself enjoying trading wits with Fandral. Despite the current subject. Possibly because he knows Fandral hides honest curiosity behind the lazy irony of his words. Curiosity Loki has no intention of satisfying. “What does one need to possess to thaw that icy exterior? And how much fire it hides?”

Loki’s smirk widens, a scathing remark already on the tip of his tongue, but he never gets the chance to reply.

“That is enough, Fandral.” Thor demands in a low voice, and only a fool would dare not to heed that warning. Perhaps, not even a fool, considering the deadly seriousness in Thor’s now almost grey eyes. “Remember who you are speaking to.”

Loki’s gaze flicks toward Thor, his initial reaction that of annoyance, but when he meets his brother’s stormy gaze, annoyance quickly morphs into something far less acceptable, and infinitely more dangerous – a potent mixture of thrill and fierce joy.

There is a moment of awkward silence at the table, Fandral’s expression turning from startled surprise to confusion as his gaze travels from Thor to Loki, a frown starting to appear on his face. Volstagg merely looks confused, and Loki curses inwardly his own inappropriate reaction as he tries – and fails – to draw his eyes from Thor’s. It is a form of power he now holds, he realizes with a startling clarity, more power than he has ever dared to imagine having over his brother, but a dangerous one to have. His brother is much a force of nature as is the lightning he commands, and only a fool would take that kind of power lightly. Once again, Loki is perplexed by how he had missed reading the truth behind Thor’s actions and words, because the damn fool looks like he is seconds away from laying a claim on Loki – a fierce possessiveness written plainly in his eyes – utterly forgetting where they are. And with whom. Because Fandral is not a fool, no matter how he acts.

The awkward moment ends with the appearance of the barmaid, a wide smile on her youthful face as she looks, naturally, at Thor. Despite Loki being the one to call her. Loki has never been more thankful for the pang of bitterness he still feels at how everyone pales to the background whenever Thor is present – even as a tiny and utterly unwelcome voice inside his head mocks him for being guilty of the same affinity – because it makes it possible for Loki to gather himself.

Fixing Thor with a stern look, he then turns toward the barmaid. “Bring us two tankards of mead, lovely.” He says, smiling softly. She blinks, her eyes widening. Loki does have a reputation among the good citizens of Asgard, no matter their status, and cordial is not it. The girl draws her eyes away from Thor, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “But barely a half for my brother, he seems indisposed today.”

Thor blinks, then narrows his eyes, the possessiveness fading from his eyes. Loki has never believed there will come the day he will be happy to see his brother’s ego in action, but he is today. For more than one reason.

“Have we not already settled the matter who of the two of us can drink more?” Thor smiles, a glint of something fierce flashing in his eyes, his smile gaining a sharp edge. “ _And_ walk afterwards?”

Loki merely shrugs. “Perhaps I had been the indisposed one that day.”

“Now, that’s more like it. You frightened me there for a moment, Thor. I feared you’ve lost your sense of humor now that you are officially to be our king.” Volstagg says, rubbing his hands together. Then, shooting a glance at Fandral, who still eyes Thor suspiciously, he adds. “My gold’s on Thor.”

Fandral rises his eyebrows at Volstagg, the frown slipping from his face. “You cannot always place your wager on Thor. It lacks good sportsmanship.”

Volstagg merely folds his hands across his substantial waist, grinning. “You only have yourself to blame for your slow uptake. Besides, I’m a married man, I need gold more than you.”

Loki throws a venomous look at Volstagg, then turns his attention to the barmaid who is still standing by their table, now looking unsure. “Bring us an entire pitcher of mead and two empty tankards, will you?” Loki says, his lips quirking into a sly smile. The blush on her cheeks deepens, but she returns the smile before she turns and walks away. Loki has no intention of repeating that unfortunate night when he and Thor had gotten into a squabble over a pretty tavern wench in Alfheim, which, somehow, ended with Loki unable to stand upright, and Thor dragging him up to his room. But he needs some time to find a way out of this situation without admitting defeat.

“Oh, no, no, no.” Fandral exclaims, rising his finger in warning. “Before this escalates, and it will, it always does with you two, I demand you tell me everything about Vanaheim while you are still able to speak coherently. And by everything, I mean Freya. Are the stories about her even remotely true?”

Thor glances at Loki, but Loki merely rises his hands. “You have the honor of storytelling this time, Thor.” At Thor’s imploring look, he only smiles pleasantly. “After all, you have spent far more time in her charming company than I have.”

“I care not who tells the story, as long as someone does.” Fandral’s face somehow manages to convey childish anticipation even with his lips curved into a truly lecherous grin as he leans forward, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Is her skin truly whiter than Midgardian pearls and softer than rose petals?”

“Fandral, you now sound decidedly worse than Ulf trying to give his verses a deeper meaning.” Loki says, his mouth curving in distaste. Thor merely looks amused, while Volstagg looks like he cannot decide whether to listen or snatch Fandral’s tankard while the other is not paying much attention to it. “A truly amazing feat, indeed. Even by your standards.”

“Thor?” Fandral rises his eyebrows in question, sounding hopeful, ignoring Loki completely.

Thor chuckles softly, but there is a glimmer of fondness in his eyes which is far cry from the look in his eyes when they arrived in Sessrúmnir. Less than three weeks ago, but to Loki that day now seems as it has happened a lifetime ago.

“She is beyond beautiful.” Thor says finally, uncharacteristically curt. “Also, she is very wise.”

Fandral blinks, then groans loudly, turning to Volstagg. “Perhaps I should take you up on your wager. Loki might be telling the truth this time. He does sound indisposed.”

“Indisposed or not, he can still drink Loki under the table any day.” Volstagg says bluntly, finally deciding that Fandral’s tankard has been neglected for far too long and snatching it for himself. “Same amount as usual?”

Shooting Volstagg a dirty look, Loki turns his attention back to his unusually subdued brother. “Well, in all fairness, my brother had eyes on another beauty while in Vanaheim.” Loki says, allowing himself a small smile at the frown on Thor’s face. “Perhaps he would be more generous in her description.”

“Oh? _Do_ tell.” Fandral says, perking up.

Loki merely grins at Thor’s narrowed-eyed glare. A part of him is truly enjoying the banter and the easy atmosphere at the table, not that anyone would draw that particular confession out of him. But even as he smiles and trades wit with Fandral, he cannot shake off the memory of that look in Thor’s eyes, the realization of what it could mean an underlying current to his every thought.

“Fandral, perhaps one day you will learn the value of discretion.” Thor says, the corner of his mouth quirking upwards. “When that day comes you will then understand my silence on this matter.”

“Honestly, what has happened in Vanaheim to choke the fun out of you, Thor?” Fandral asks, his gaze alternately traveling from Thor to Loki and back again as if expecting an explanation. “Most go there to indulge themselves and come back with stories of pleasure beyond measure, and all you have offered so far is silence. And a statement about Freya’s wisdom. _That_ is what I have been waiting for nearly three weeks?”

“I am sorry to disappoint, Fandral, but we were on a diplomatic mission, not taking a pleasure sojourn.” Thor says, and no matter the seriousness of his expression, there is a mischievous glint in his eyes. “But I can tell you in great detail all about Vanaheim’s dispute with Nidavellir over trade routes.”

The look of disappointment on Fandral’s face is entirely worth accompanying Thor here today, a fact Loki is more than willing to share out loud, but the words stay lodged in his throat as his gaze catches a dark shadow moving on the window sill, its wings fluttering as the bird inclines its head, a pair of beady eyes staring directly at them. Or not them at all. At _him_.

Huginn, but it could be Odin himself, for what his ravens see, Odin will know as sure as if he saw it with his own eye.

Swallowing, Loki feels an irrational surge of panic at the bird’s scrutiny, like it can see directly inside his mind and the secrets he keeps hidden there, or worse yet – those that are not his own.

 _Especially_ one that is not his own.

“Loki? Is something wrong?”

Cursing himself inwardly, Loki draws his gaze away from his father’s raven. What does he have to fear? If there is truth to what he suspects about Thor’s sudden madness, he bears no fault in it. For once, he is entirely blameless and the worthier son…

The sudden realization chills his blood and stills his heart as a thought takes root in his mind, offering so many tantalizing possibilities, it nearly makes his hands shake with barely held excitement.

“Loki?” Thor repeats, already half-risen off his chair, worry etched onto every line of his face. “What has…”

But he never gets the chance to finish his question, as two members of Einherjar approach their table, bowing respectfully before Thor, then doing the same with Loki.

Throwing another worried look his way, Thor all but snaps at the guard closer to him. “What dire need demands you to disturb me when I am with my friends?”

The guards do not even bat an eyelash faced with Thor’s temper, but these men are among the best Asgard has to offer, and facing the older Odinson’s fury, terrifying as it may be, is nothing compared to what they have already lived through.

“The Allfather demands your immediate presence my prince.” The guard states, his gaze flickering to Loki. “Yours as well, prince Loki.”

Another pang of panic shoots through Loki, his eyes immediately flying to the tavern window, finding it empty, Huginn already gone.

The barmaid chooses that moment to appear, the look of trepidation on her face as she comes to stand by their table, two empty tankards and a pitcher in her hands, her eyes darting from the guards to Thor, then, finally, settling on Loki’s face.

Forcing a smile on his lips, Loki says lightly. “I guess you will have to wait another opportunity to lose your gold, Volstagg, but accept this mead as a token of my appreciation of your faith in me.” His smile widening, Loki nods reassuringly at the girl who looks small and fragile standing beside two fully armored guards. “Leave the mead to my friends, lovely, and I will make sure the order gets settled later.”

“Yes, my prince.” She all but stammers, setting the mead and the tankards on the table. With a small curtsy, she turns and hurriedly walks away.

“You are free to go.” Loki says curtly, turning to the guards. “We are to arrive shortly.”

One of the guards looks like he is about to challenge Loki’s command, but the other precedes him.

“As you command, my prince.”

With a brief bow, they are gone, leaving the heavy silence filed with questions behind. Only Volstagg seems unbothered, preoccupying himself with filling his tankard with mead.

“You have spoken with Father this morning, Loki. Do you have any knowledge of why had he summoned us?” Thor asks, his brows knitted together.

Loki finally manages to subdue his irrational fright at this unexpected summons. Even if he is correct in his assumption – which he still doubts, for this is no small matter and he needs definitive proof – nothing untoward has happened between them. It must be something else. It is something else.

“No, I know nothing more than you, brother.” Loki answers, rising to his feet. “But we should not tardy. Father has almost as little patience as you, Thor.”

Volstagg rises his – now full – tankard in Loki’s direction. “Your generosity is as welcome as it is unexpected, Loki.” Then, turning to Thor, who had followed Loki’s example in rising to his feet, he offers another salute. “I am still counting on you to win me my gold.”

Releasing a chuckle, Thor clasps Volstagg by his shoulder. “We shall see, my friend.” He says lightly, but the look he throws Loki’s way is anything but. “Shall we go, brother?”

“Do not think I have given up.” Fandral warns, leaning back in his seat, his gaze traveling from Thor to Loki and back again. “I will have my story of Freya’s beauty beyond compare and I care not which one of you tells it. Your highnesses.” He adds with an exaggerated half-bow, which is even more ridiculous because Fandral does it while still sitting down.

Thor bursts into laughter, while Loki swallows a sigh. “Sometimes I wish Father had not revoked flogging as a form of punishment for disrespect against the royal family. You are in dire need of one, Fandral.”

Fandral merely smirks. “Ohh, there is Loki we know and love. I have been afraid Vanaheim had somehow managed to switch your personalities. That would have been uncomfortable for all.”

Narrowing his eyes, Loki opens his mouth, but before he has a chance to say a word, his wrists is encircled by strong fingers. The grip both unyielding and gentle.

“Come, Loki. You can contemplate on how best to punish Fandral on the way back to Father.” Thor grins, his blue eyes glinting with mischief, and Loki feels himself grinning back despite himself. And in that moment, he wants nothing more than to be wrong about Thor’s feelings for him. No matter what it could mean in the long run.

When Thor tugs him forward, Loki allows himself to be led. But he also allows himself a glance over his shoulder and a sharp-toothed grin aimed at Fandral. The slow fading of Fandral’s smirk into a worried frown is more than worth it.

******

“Jotnar? In Nidavellir?” Thor repeats once again, as if the very repetition will somehow make the fact less preposterous. “And we know this to be a fact?”

The look Odin gives his firstborn is unusually lacking patience he reserves for Thor. “Would I have summoned you here were it not?”

Loki holds himself back a step, silent, but his eyes are traveling from Thor to Odin, and back again. Thor, naturally, looks already sufficiently feral, but there is something grave in Odin’s expression which makes Loki feel uneasy for no apparent reason. Not that he has to have one, for he will never feel completely at ease in his father’s company. Not like Thor does, blurting out any foolish thing that comes to his mind, while Loki has to carefully weigh each word and even then waiting with baited breath Odin’s reaction.

“Is it not almost impossible to travel to and from Jotunheim?” Thor insists, and Loki suppresses an eye roll. Thor really ought to pay closer attention to Odin’s current mood, not ask for details which are of no importance.

“Almost does not make it impossible, Thor.” Odin snaps at Thor. Thor, expectedly merely squares his shoulders and stands up straighter. Pressing his lips tighter, Loki makes sure to keep his expression carefully blank, wondering how two egos of such size can even fit is the space of Odin’s study. “How they have made their escape is not of substantial importance now. What is important is that they have been causing considerable damage to dwarven trade convoys carrying precious gems.”

Thor’s face darkens further. “They somehow manage to leave their dying realm and immediately they turn to robbery and violence? It makes little sense.”

“What did you expect of a race of monsters, Thor?” Loki says in a low voice, the corner of his mouth curving in disgust. He speaks without actually meaning to, but Thor is truly outdoing even his usual standards of stubborn idiocy. Odin’s gaze settles briefly on Loki’s face, stern and impassive as always, for the first time since their arrival and greetings, acknowledging his presence. “To settle down at take up farming?”

Thor’s face draws into a frown, his eyes flicking towards Loki. “Monsters or not, Jotnar are not mindless beasts. They must have known they would be dealt with. If not by Eitri’s forces then by Asgardian ones.”

“Purpose and reason are what you wish to ascertain in actions of Frost Giants?” Loki snorts, both amused and somewhat perplexed by Thor’s unusual cautiousness. By now, he should already have Mjölnir in hand, demanding Jotun blood. “How unusually magnanimous of you, brother.”

“And what are your thoughts, Loki?” Odin asks softly, his face thoughtful as his eye rests on Loki’s face.

Loki takes a deep breath, somewhat surprised by the inquiry. As he had been since Odin informed them of the reason for summoning them. Straightforward violence is more Thor’s area of expertise, and this is clearly such a case. This is no convoluted or delicate political scheme, but a simple case of finding and eliminating the threat.

But then… why is _he_ even _here_? 

“Quick and decisive action, naturally.” Loki says, his face and voice carefully blank, but he cannot stop himself from gauging every, no matter how small, reaction from his father. “It will reflect well on our relations with Nidavellir and it will also send a message about Asgard’s strength and resolve when dealing with threats.”

The corner of Odin’s mouth twitches slightly, but his face stays impassive as he turns his gaze toward Thor. “And you, Thor? What do you suggest?”

Thor throws another glance at Loki, but he does not hesitate in his reply. “The same as Loki. Even if I cannot see a rational thought guiding their actions. But the fact remains the same, they are a threat that needs to be neutralized.”

A small smile turns up Odin’s lips, but Loki cannot tell have they passed or failed some elusive test of their father’s, no matter the seeming change in Odin’s mood for the better.

“It is a rare occurrence to see my two sons have exactly the same opinion.” Odin says, folding his hands behind his back. “It is settled then. Thor, you will go and deal with the Jotnar. Take whoever you want with you. I leave that choice entirely in your hands.”

Thor’s eyes immediately flick towards Loki, and Loki feels something very much like pity for his brother. There is almost desperate yearning in his eyes, but also something very much like naked fear. He obviously wants to ask Loki to come, and, yet, he hesitates to do so. And that only strengthens Loki’s belief of the sudden change in his brother’s feelings towards him. But he pushes that thought deep, deep into the back of his mind to be considered in less dangerous environment.

He briefly wonders what would happen would he express a desire to follow Thor to Nidavellir. But as much a part of him wants to see Thor’s reaction at his offer of company, he decides against it. This has already been a surreal and rather tiring day, and he needs time to gather his thoughts, not make hasty decisions based on assumptions. No matter how they seem to be pilling up with each passing moment. And, besides, mindless violence has never been to his tastes.

But, in the end, Odin takes away the decision from both their hands.

“I am sure you would want to have your brother accompany you, Thor, but I need Loki here.”

No matter the seeming softness of Odin’s voice, there is a note of finality in it which not even Thor would dare to argue. And, perhaps, this time he would not even wish to, but, in this moment, Loki cares little for Thor’s desires as rage and hurt well up inside him, and it takes him all his considerable control to keep his face blank and the demand of an explanation behind his tightly closed lips.

He spares only a brief glance at Thor, and in any other circumstances the way Thor manages to look relieved and agitated at the same time would be a source of amusement, but not now. Not when yet again he is pushed to the background, so Thor can shine.

“Of course, Father.” Loki smiles, and a part of him is amazed at how soft and sincere his voice sounds when his chest feels like a nest of serpents, their venom trickling slowly, but surely, inside his heart. “I am certain Thor will be able to handle the threat alone.” And then, inclining his head and rising his eyebrows, he allows himself a question, not the one he yearns to ask, but the one he feels he is allowed to ask. “And what task demands my presence?”

“You will know when the time comes for you to know, my son.” Odin says, and Loki only smiles and nods in return, like an obedient, good son. He keeps his gaze trained on the ground a moment too long, until he is certain nothing of his inner turmoil is reflected in his eyes. But when he looks up he is not met with Odin’s one-eyed gaze, but with a look of infinite tenderness in the blue eyes of his brother. It feels like a slap to the face, nails scarping against an open wound, and, if he could, Loki would gladly claw them out, but he settles for ignoring Thor.

“Will that be all, Father?” Loki asks, unnecessary as it is. He had already received his dismissal, but if there is anything Odin demands above all, it is respect. Even from his sons. Although, he has been known to show far more leniency toward the elder one – the perfect one.

_But not so perfect anymore, are you brother?_

The words taste like bile in his mouth, and in one entirely foolish, reckless moment he yearns to spit them to both their faces.

“Yes, my son, you are free to leave.” Odin says, smiling briefly at Loki before turning his attention to Thor. “Thor, you will stay a moment. I need to discuss minor details of your upcoming task with you.”

Thor throws a glance at Loki’s face, and Loki loathes that his brother’s apparent deviation in feelings is making Thor more thoughtful… more _insightful_ , the look in his eyes something akin to sympathy instead of careless ignorance. Or it could be pity.

_And if it is indeed pity, brother, I will have your insides._

“Then I will take my leave, Father.” Loki says, and it is actually becoming painful to keep the smile on his lips. He is good at keeping pretenses, but this is straining his abilities to their breaking point. He needs time alone. He needs to _think_. Turning to Thor, he nods curtly. “Thor.”

As he turns to leave, he is stopped by Thor’s fingers around his wrist. “Will I see you before I leave?” Thor asks, hopeful.

Of all looks his brother has ever given him, Loki has the least love for the earnest, open one Thor has in his eyes right now. Because, despite everything, his current feelings included, he has yet to find it in himself not to succumb to it. Not that he wants to this time.

Gently, Loki extracts his wrist out of Thor’s grip. “Of course you will.” He says, which only serves in causing Thor to grin stupidly as he often does. “What kind of a brother would I be if I allowed you to march off to glory without wishing you luck first?”

_And finally find out what has happened to you in Vanaheim to tarnish your perfection, brother._

******

Loki does not start shaking until he is safely behind the wards placed on his private chambers.

It starts with a twitch of his fingers, then spreads to his hands, and, soon, his entire body is shaking with a myriad of conflicting emotions, each strong as the other, and each making a broken, fractured mess out of Loki’s thoughts, until he – who prides himself for being above such weakness – is reduced to a trembling mess of flesh and bone, leaning against the massive door for support. 

Everything that has happened since their return from Vanaheim – Thor’s suspicious behavior, Loki’s frustration with it, then today’s startling realization, all ending with Odin, once again, choosing to favor Thor – and what should have been, _finally_ , the first step in mending his broken relationship with his brother, now explodes behind his closed eyelids, each image mocking him for so many reasons. Each image containing the familiar blonde head and blue eyes of his damned brother. 

Thor, Thor, Thor, _Thor_ … Always Thor.

It is as if his entire life is just another play, and he is not even the leading man in it, but simply a shadow, a dark cloud making his perfect, golden brother shine even brighter. And the thing that stings the most, the pathetic part of it, is that for long – so damnably long – Loki did not even mind it. Perfectly content to trail after his big brother, always a step behind, happy to bask in the glow of his brother’s splendor.

He cannot pinpoint exactly when his feelings started to change. When the adoration turned to bitterness, when the joy of being the brother of Thor – with his easy smiles and careless arrogance, with his effortless way of getting everything he desires – morphed into a curse – the curse of being born second and doomed to forever stay second to his older brother. No matter what he says, does or tries, he will never be good enough. Never stand equal to Thor. Not in Odin’s eyes, not in Asgard’s eyes.

Sometimes, he can even make himself believe he can accept that. But whether it lasts a day, a month or a year, not even he is good enough a liar to keep lying to himself indefinitely. Not when there is a wound inside him which cannot seem to heal, only fester, its slowly trickling poison spreading through his bloodstream, infecting his body, mind and soul.

The last time, barely days ago, standing on the bank of an enchanted lake he had made himself believe it yet again. Every word he had said to Thor had been the truth. It still is, and that makes this beast inside him, roaring with rage and helpless frustration, all the more vicious – he loves Thor, he would kill for Thor, possibly even die for him, but sometimes, in his darkest moments, he thinks he could just as easily kill him.

A bark of a laughter – shrill, high and with a sharp edge of hysteria falls from his lips at that thought.

A world without Thor, a world in which Loki would no longer stand in the shadows, no longer find himself being measured by impossible standards Thor has set, the world in which Odin would look to him first and only…

The thought sparks an almost wild thrill at the center of his chest and a leaden weight in the pit of his stomach. Love and hate, tenderness and resentment, admiration and envy… an impossibly torturous tangle of conflicting emotions, all centered around one name.

_Thor._

The favoured son, the mightiest warrior in Asgard, the adored prince and soon to be king. Thor who has everything he desires.

_Or does he now?_

A memory flashes before his mind’s eye – the ache inside the blue eyes, so unfamiliar, so _foreign_ in the eyes of his brother, usually alight with joy, fury or bloodlust. The ache for _him_.

Thor _desires_ him.

A giggle escapes his throat. It is a ridiculous, utterly undignified sound, but the only appropriate reaction at the scandalous thought of Thor harboring entirely unbrotherly affection for his younger brother. If it is true, and, as his mind starts sorting through Thor’s erratic behavior in Vanaheim once again – the flashes of lust he has seen directed at him and dismissed as impossible, as a trick of light and his own dark mind, the jealousy at his closeness to Vidar, the possessiveness – Loki cannot find a fault in his reasoning. Then there is also Thor’s unusual avoidance of Loki, when, after their reconciliation, Loki had expected Thor to haunt him mercilessly, intent upon dragging him on some foolish quest to make up for the time Loki avoided such mindless exploits which Thor enjoys so.

But what now? What are they now? What does Thor want from him? He already has so much of him, without even being truly aware of it. But Thor always wants more, _more_ and more. Even if this time, he seems to be aware of standing precariously close to the line he – _they_ – should never cross. And how terrifying and terrible that desire might be, if Thor, who runs from no foe and fears nothing, does not trust himself entirely to be in Loki’s company anymore.

Another giggle escapes his mouth, his back sliding down the door, until he is seated on the ground, his face buried in his hands, as sounds that are sobs as much as bouts of dry, hoarse laughter, leave his throat, and only after he tastes salt on his lips, does he become aware of the warm, wet sensation of tears sliding down his face.

Loki cannot tell how much time has passed since his shameful breakdown, but slowly, his body stops trembling, the almost animalistic sounds leaving his throat grow quieter, the stop altogether, his mind finally getting a hold over his emotions.

Wiping away the moisture from his face with the back of his hand, Loki exhales deeply. He does it again. And again. He does not stop until all the traces of his momentary weakness disappear completely, and he has enough presence of mind to start focusing on how to proceed now that he is in possession of this knowledge. Of this _weapon_.

For years, when they were but little boys, Odin often spent his time entertaining them with tales of kings and duties and throne. And always – _always_ – he talked about both of them being born to be kings. Many years later, Loki realized – with fury and disillusionment and simple, plain hurt – that Odin’s tales were exactly that – tales. Shiny, glittering, empty words told to those too young to see them as lies they were. Only one of those wide-eyed, awe-stricken boys is to be – had always meant to be – the king of Asgard, and it is not the dark-haired one.

Realizing the truth had not been difficult. Even a fool could see how large a chasm lies between two brothers when it comes to affection and favour of others. Their father included. Thor has always been the better warrior, the ideal of Asgard’s society built on honor, strength and valor in battle. Loki… well, he never quite fit in. No matter his masks and illusions, no matter how adept he is at taking almost any form he desires, he had never been able to fit all his sharp edges into the mould of a true Asgardian. Too sly to be trustworthy, too reliant on magic to be a true warrior, his quicksilver spirit always defying the clear-cut nature of his fellow Asgardians.

But accepting the truth… is entirely a different matter.

And it is not even that Loki yearns for the throne so much. Oh, it would be a lie to say he has not imagined himself seated on the golden throne of Hlidskjalf. He has. Many times, but not because of the power it gives – no matter how satisfying it would be to have the entire Asgard bow their heads before him – but because for once, just once, in his existence he would be able to look Thor in the eyes as an equal.

But dreams and fantasies are for children, and regret and acceptance are for cowards and weaklings, and Loki is neither of those. Thor is to be king, but he is far from ready to assume that responsibility, and no one can see it, all too dazzled by his brother’s splendor.

No one, except Loki. He can see his reckless, impulsive and selfish nature. His thirst for glory and his blindness to anything that does not pertain to him. Too accustomed to having everything always going his way – either by the force of his hammer or by the effortless charm he seems to possess in abundance. He is arrogant, stubborn and uncompromising. Too quick to anger, and too quick to trust. A fine warrior, but not a king.

After Odin’s announcement, Loki had been plagued by thoughts. Dark, dangerous ones, bordering on high treason. And now, unexpectedly, Thor might have provided him with a perfect weapon. An opportunity to bring him to his knees, exposing his shame and perversion to their father, and finally – _finally_ – be the worthy son. And he does not even have to lie, scheme or endanger his own integrity. For he holds no blame for the tarnish Thor holds inside his blood. For his warped desires are his, and only his own. Thor has shown him the way to his own undoing, and Loki only has to entice Thor, dangle the noose in front of his brother’s eyes, and the fool will do the rest.

Taking a deep breath, Loki feels the strange calmness settle over him. Void of triumph and regret alike, but filled with determination. He will do this. He will make Thor expose his own failings. Whatever happens after that is out of Loki’s hands, but he will have the satisfaction of seeing the perfect, shining image of his brother forever tarnished. And if Odin could stay blind to his elder’s son’s many faults, he will not be able to stay blind to this. Not when the unnatural passion Thor seems to harbor for Loki is the one thing no one in Asgard looks upon with anything but disgust and horror. Odin included. 

To stop Thor from being crowned king, Loki had been desperate enough to contemplate a dangerous plan. A plan which, no matter how careful Loki would have been, could have ended up being Loki’s ruin much as it could have led to Thor’s. And now, if his suspicions are true, all he has to do to once and for all ruin Thor’s perfect image is to expose the truth to the world. Namely, their father.

The irony of that fact is not lost on him, even if the expected rush of joy and triumph is.

******

Loki takes a deep breath as he surveys the content on the heavy platter in his hands – a large pitcher, full to the brim with one of the most rare and expensive of Alfheim’s wines and two silver goblets. He has had this wine in his possession for a long while now, keeping it for some truly extraordinary occasion.

And what could be more a special occasion than getting his brother drunk enough for him to reveal his unnatural lust for Loki?

The thought makes his face draw into a small frown, his chest tightening imperceptibly. It is not truly regret or even fear, but it is not a pleasant sensation, no matter the stakes. No matter what Loki expects to gain after tonight.

_But what about what you will lose?_

His frown turns into a grimace at the unwanted reminder of how everything has a price. And the cost of his tonight’s actions is clear to him – his brother. He will lose Thor. Even if the fool never finds out about Loki’s deception and his motives for it, their relationship will be forever ruined. Loki knows Thor, knows how deeply the sense of honor runs within his brother’s soul. And, even if, by some miracle, everyone forgives and forgets his transgression against Loki, Thor would never do it. The fool is too honorable for his own good. Too mellow, despite his berserker soul and even his arrogance.

And Loki is anything but mellow.

This is his only chance at stepping out of Thor’s shadow, and even if it shatters that foolish part of his heart which still adores his older brother as much as the young, naïve boy he had been once did. And it is not like he is the one responsible for what is about to happen. Thor is the one who changed everything between them. The one with the sickness inside himself, not Loki. No one can blame him for anything. He can set the trap, but cannot force Thor to enter it. Not against Thor’s will. Not if Thor is blameless of the sin Loki suspects him of.

Swallowing, Loki forces himself to relax. This is not the time for doubts and regret. He will never get another chance to do this, to ruin Thor’s good image so utterly and do it without risking himself, wasting it out of foolish sentimentality would be idiocy beyond compare.

Clenching his jaw, he waves his hand over one of the goblets, the green light spilling from his fingers, waving itself around the goblet, like a coiling serpent’s tail, then disappearing completely, leaving no traces of anything untoward behind.

Loki swallows a snort. It is such a simple, ridiculous even, spell. Whoever now drinks from the enchanted goblet will be under the influence of four times more alcohol than he had indeed consumed. It is a spell meant to cause harmless mischief and provide amusement, nothing more. A spell Loki learned after Thor, without much effort, had, in fact, drunk him under the table that one time. And now, it is likely to determine the entire course of his life. Laughable, really. But simple solutions are in most cases the most efficient. And, other than anger, drunkenness has always been the state in which Thor lost his control the easiest.

Taking another long look of the enchanted goblet, Loki steels himself for another round of doubts and hesitation, possibly even fear, but nothing comes. His breathing remains calm and even, his heart beating its usual rhythm, his mind clear. Like he is truly setting off to spend some alone time with his brother on the eve of his journey.

Closing his eyes, Loki allows his face to soften into a casual expression, his lips turning up into a hint of a smile, his hand steady as he opens the massive doors, and steps outside, the doors closing with a soft click behind him.

Thor’s chambers are not far from his own, a concession on Frigga’s part, and a testament to their childhood days when they refused to accept that they cannot sleep in one bed, so it takes him but a few moments to reach the doors leading to his brother’s private chambers.

Loki contemplates knocking, but then remembers all those times Thor had come barging into his chambers, a man-shaped hurricane, demanding attention and refusing to settle for anything less, and decides against it.

Pushing the doors open, Loki’s lips curve upwards into a smirk. It is high time Thor sees how it feels to be denied common courtesy of someone respecting _his_ privacy.

Thor’s chambers are half-submersed in shadows, the only light coming from a flickering globe of light on the wall above Thor’s bed. His smirk faltering, Loki stops barely two steps inside Thor’s chamber, his eyes widening as they land on the sight of his brother – half-sitting and half-lying on the ground, his back leaning against his bead, his head thrown back, his eyes closed.

Blinking, Loki swallows around the lump in his throat, his chest suddenly heavy with guilt, doubt and fear, and he almost takes a step back, but then Thor whips his head up, his eyes opening, the outrage and agitation in them turning to naked longing as they settle on Loki, the hard lines of his face softening as he mouths something which Loki thinks is his name, but he cannot be sure whether Thor actually says it because of the deafening beat of his heart.

It is a surreal moment, their eyes locked across the room, the silence in the darkened room charged with something electric, fierce and dangerous, and Loki suddenly feels like _he_ is the one walking into a trap, a panicked voice inside his head demanding immediate retreat.

But then Thor blinks and pushes himself into a sitting position, the longing in his eyes giving way to caution as well as surprise. “Loki, I… I did not expect to see you tonight.”

Loki silences the panicked voice inside his head, his fingers tightening their grip on the platter. “I did give my word to wish you luck before you leave for Nidavellir, did I not?” Loki smiles, his voice sounding almost as sure as Loki would like it to. “Brother, who do you take me for? A liar?”

Thor opens his mouth, looking unsure, his eyes scrutinizing Loki’s face as if trying to discern whether Loki is speaking in jest or is there a touch of truth to his words. In any other situation, this tentative and unsure Thor would be an infinite source of amusement, but now, it is merely inconvenient. Loki needs his brother relaxed and unguarded, not weighing his words and actions.

“You do have a way of circumventing the truth, brother.” Thor says finally, the corners of his lips twitching up, and Loki feels a spark of frustration at how easily Thor has slipped back into his usual behavior. Centuries upon centuries, Thor has been an open book, simple and straightforward, ruled by his blood and lusts, and now there is something new to him, an unknown quantity Loki has no love for so far. “I have seen you convince our tutors to see _your_ way a few times.”

“Those remarkable few times when you were not asleep during our lessons, you mean.” Loki snorts. If Thor can do this – pretend that nothing has changed between them, play his part of a proper elder brother – than Loki can do it as well. After all, lies and masks are _his_ playground, not Thor’s. No matter his brother’s newly developed depth of character.

Thor watches carefully as Loki strides over to where he still sits, his eyes trailing from the platter in Loki’s hands to Loki’s face, and back again.

A small, amused smile flickers across his features as Loki places the platter on the ground, taking a seat next to Thor, their shoulders almost touching.

“Are you here to prove Volstagg wrong, Loki?” Thor asks, arching one eyebrow challengingly, and Loki almost falls into their usual pattern of pushing and pulling. They have always done this, Loki realizes with a startling clarity. Dared each other into new experiences, into taking the first step into the unknown. An ache blossoms inside Loki’s chest suddenly, as he realizes once again, now, when he is about to wreck everything – _not him, not this time, it is Thor’s fault, not his, only Thor’s_ – how much he had missed this. Missed his fool of a brother. “Do you not remember what has happened the last time you set out to settle this particular matter?” Pushing himself up slightly, Thor peers at the content of the pitcher, then grins at Loki, but there is still something cautious lurking in the depths of his brother’s gaze. “I believe that will not be enough wine to last us more than an hour, brother, let alone to settle the matter of our endurance.”

Loki only shrugs, pouring the wine in one of the goblets – the enchanted one – and handing it to Thor. “It would hardly be worth my trouble to engage in that childish contest when the big ox is not even here to witness your shameful loss, brother.” Loki smiles. Thor’s eyes flick toward the goblet, but he makes no move to take it. For a brief moment, Loki feels panic grip his insides, but he calms almost instantly. Outside of suddenly developing mind reading ability, Thor has no way of knowing what Loki’s intentions are. “And swallow his words.” He adds, his smile turning vicious.

Thor chuckles, shaking his head, but then, he reaches out, his fingers wrapping around the goblet in Loki’s outstretched hand. “Your confidence is admiring, brother.” Thor tips the goblet in wordless salute. “It will certainly make your inevitable loss all the more satisfying.”

With that Thor brings the goblet to his lips, draining almost half of the wine in one big gulp. And Loki has to clench his hands into fists, his nails digging deep into his palms in an attempt of preventing a triumphant smile from appearing on his lips. Bless Thor and his competitive nature, it will certainly make this easier than Loki could have hoped for.

Reaching after the pitcher, Loki’s eyes catch on the sight he would never expect to see in his brother’s chamber – a book, lying closed on the floor, on the other side of his brother.

Throwing a bewildered glance at Thor, still wholly focused on draining the rest of the wine, Loki leans over, his shoulder brushing against Thor’s chest as he does so, and picks up the discarded book.

He ignores a choked off sound coming from Thor, now wholly focused on the volume in his hands – rare, expensive, old, and, probably, largely inaccurate.

He throws a sideways glance at Thor, his eyebrows raised high in wonder. Thor has put his goblet down, and now is looking at him with a mix of challenge and discomfort.

“ _Honestly_ , Thor?”

“You are not the only one who knows the way to the palace library, Loki.”

Loki snorts. “And you have been rather insistent in not following that path for the better part of your life.”

Loki opens the book, absentmindedly rifling through the pages, until his eyes pause on the familiar image of a blue casket. The image is fairly accurate, but it cannot capture the enormous power of ice and winter which Loki has seen rippling and swirling inside it. Frowning, Loki closes the book, turning to face Thor, who has been rendered silent, the look on his face strangely blank.

“What is bothering you so?” Loki asks, his voice laced with annoyance and curiosity in equal measure. “So much it made you willingly reach for a book of all things.”

_Why have you not come to me?_

Thor looks at him one long moment, as if weighing the words inside his head. Loki feels an irrational surge of annoyance and impotent fury, momentarily forgetting what the purpose of his visit is. Thor _is_ weighing his words. Thor _never_ does that. Not even when he should, no matter how many times Loki had scolded him for it. And now? Loki wants Thor to revert to his old self, because he does not understand this new version Thor is seemingly growing into. The _mature_ version, Loki realizes with a blood-chilling certainty. One with little need for his younger’s brother counsel. “It is of no importance, brother.” He says, finally, his voice weary as he reaches after his goblet. Loki is an expert in lies and pretense, and Thor is anything but. It does not stop him from trying, though. But Thor cannot see his own face. So he does not see how wrong the glaringly false smile looks there. “You have not come here to discuss literature. Let us not waste what little time we have left until dawn breaks over unimportant matters. It has been far too long since we shared a drink in private, so better pour me more of that fine wine, brother.”

Loki feels his nostrils flare, his eyes narrowing. His agitation is growing by the second, but he obeys Thor, filling his goblet with rich, red wine. It is why he is here, after all. But that does not mean he is willing to give up so easily. “Unimportant matters? Hardly, when you were desperate enough to seek answers in a tome older than yourself. And, by my limited knowledge of the matter, containing mostly fiction.” Loki says, his eyes fixed firmly on Thor’s face. Thor brings the goblet to his lips, taking another long gulp, and Loki suddenly feels tired of games, lies and schemes. The irony… is not completely lost on him. “Do you not trust me, Thor?”

Thor seemingly freezes, his face drawing into a frown. He sets the goblet aside and turns so he could face Loki. Thor’s hand on the ground next to the goblet twitches, then curls into a fist, as if he is fighting an impulse to touch Loki. “I trust you with my life, Loki. You know this.”

“But not with what burdens your heart.”

“Why is it so important?” Thor asks, exasperated. “It is but a book, and you were right, I found nothing of importance in it.”

Loki studies Thor in silence, a thought forming in his mind – ludicrous and impossible. “Do you fear facing the Jotnar, Thor?”

A grin splits Thor’s face, the blue of his eyes flashing with brash arrogance, and Loki feels an answering grin twitch in the corners of his lips. At least this has not changed about Thor. He is still confident enough to singlehandedly take on the entire Nine Realms. Or at least give it a valiant effort. “Even without you by my side, Loki, there is no foe I fear facing in battle.”

Reaching after the second goblet, Loki fills it. He hesitates a moment in bringing it to his lips, staring at the red liquid. He had been so sure, so certain of himself and the path he chose before he entered Thor’s chambers. And now, barely moments later, he is no longer certain of anything. Save, perhaps, one thing.

He wants to go back to when loving Thor had been simple and easy, and when being loved by him had been pure and brotherly. But as much as he cannot untangle the love he feels for Thor from resentment and envy, he suspects Thor having the same difficulty with lust.

But it is not lust, and it is not desire he sees In Thor’s eyes when he finally looks up. Only love. And right now, with tendrils of something cold and heavy starting to coil around his heart? It is the last thing Loki wishes to see in Thor’s eyes directed at him.

“To your health, brother.” Loki says, rising his goblet in salute. There is a gnawing, hollow ache inside his chest, part guilt, part shame, and part something Loki has no desire – courage? – to name. “May your hand strike true at your foes.”

Thor’s lips form a wide, bright smile before he picks up his goblet and returns the salute, this time managing to dawn the entire content of his goblet before Loki has only had a sip.

Thor’s face looks flushed now, his eyes starting to glaze over. He glances down at his empty goblet, then up at Loki, a wide grin stretching his lips. “Where have you acquired this wine, brother? It is most delicious.” Thor’s grin turns sharp as he inclines his head, studying Loki’s face intently. “The last time you stole wine from Father we were but young boys.”

Loki remembers that time. His intention was to get back at Thor for getting him drunk for the first time. _That_ Loki remembers with crystal clarity. Along with the unfairness of the next day, when Loki felt like his head was full of lead and his stomach of poison the entire day, when Thor – who drank a lot more than Loki – looked annoyingly bright and cheerful. But all Loki managed to achieve after stealing Odin’s prized wine had been another headache and a month of serving as a smith’s apprentice when Odin found out what Loki had done.

“It is not stolen, Thor.” Loki says. And it really is not. Strictly speaking. Even if Loki had been cheating when he had won it in a game of chance against a noble from Alfheim. “I have won it.” 

“Then bless your luck, Loki, for I have not tasted wine such as this in a long time.” Thor grins, and, this time, he does not bother asking Loki for more wine. Instead, he reaches after the pitcher, and pours it himself.

Loki opens his mouth, wanting… he is not entirely certain what his intention is. His plan, along with his confidence and conviction, is lying in shattered pieces all around him, and he finds himself at a loss on how to proceed further. But all his confusion aside, even if he attempts to stop Thor from drinking more of the wine, Thor is already too drunk to be susceptible to reason. So he merely sighs into his own goblet before tipping it and taking a long gulp, his eyes closing for a brief moment as he allows the rich taste of the wine to linger briefly in his mouth before swallowing it, focusing only on the sensation of warmth and sweetness as it travels down his throat, and nothing else.

But the momentary comfort of not thinking about anything shatters the moment Loki opens his eyes, meeting Thor’s gaze. Loki’s breath catches in his throat, and he stays deathly still, his goblet still raised to his lips.

Thor’s eyes are wide, pupils blown, the black almost entirely swallowing the clear blue, and the sheer hunger contained there causes an involuntary shiver to run up Loki’s spine. He feels not even the smallest trace of triumph at the fact that his plan is working magnificently. His brother’s willpower is rapidly crumbling under the effect of the wine and Loki’s spell, his chest rising and falling with deep breaths, his nostrils flaring, his free hand clenched tightly into fist. Thor either cares not, or cannot summon enough common sense to hide the desire so plainly written in his eyes, trained with single-minded focus on Loki’s face.

Then, without warning, something shifts in Thor’s eyes. Hunger remains, but now Loki can see a stubborn determination there as well, almost as if his brother has come to a decision. Thor puts down his empty goblet, his eyes not even for a moment leaving Loki’s face as he pushes himself away from the bed and up, now half kneeling and half sitting on the ground, and quite successfully trapping Loki between the bed and himself.

A smile, uncertain and earnest, stretches Thor’s lips, a glaring contrast to the emotion burning in his eyes, his hand slowly, but surely, rising from where it rests by his side. And Loki panics. He has no idea what Thor intends to do, sure only that he does not want to face the irrefutable proof of Thor’s lust for him. Heated gazes are one thing, they can be ignored, or rationalized into something entirely different. But a deliberate touch, or a declaration… it would change everything. It would forever exist as an irreparable crack in their already tenuous relationship.

And Loki, despite orchestrating this entire fiasco, realizes that he does not want that. No matter what he could gain from exposing Thor’s shame, he simply cannot do it. The mere thought makes his insides twist and turn, until he feels almost physically ill.

But Thor is still sitting too close, too drunk for rational thought, still looking at him as he has never wanted anything as much he wants Loki, his hand still moving, so Loki does the first thing that comes to his mind.

Throwing his head back, Loki chuckles, and, by fate’s mercy, it is enough to halt Thor in his movements, the confusion slowly seeping into Thor’s expression.

“I must admit, you surprised me, brother.” Loki says, the words falling from his lips without rhyme or reason, as if dragged out by some force beyond Loki’s control. He is babbling, actually babbling, his famed wit all but rendered useless. “I have always believed there will never come the day I will see Volstagg refuse food, Fandral refuse a willing conquest and you, my brother, refuse to accept the gift of mindless violence when offered in such an inviting package.”

Thor blinks, his hand falling back at his side, and Loki can actually see the struggle Thor is having to force himself to think through the haze of drunkenness and lust. “I… I am not…” Thor starts but stops himself. He shakes his head, as if that will help clear his mind, then laughs – but it comes out a little uncertain. “I appear to be drunk… I should not be drunk after so little wine.” He inclines his head, his smile slowly fading into a frown, and he is now staring at Loki with something akin to suspicion. Loki keeps his face carefully neutral, a small, lazy smile playing on his lips. It is dangerous ground they are stepping onto, but still far safer than the one they have left behind. “Where did you acquire that wine?”

Loki allows himself a smirk. “Thor, you underestimate my abilities. When I wish for something, I usually end with it in my possession. Sooner or later.” Loki drawls, twirling the remaining wine in his goblet, before dawning the rest in one gulp. When he puts down his, now empty, goblet, he allows his smirk to become lethal. “The previous owner had been almost overjoyed to part with it.”

Thor blinks, the frown on his face gradually turning into a grimace of fury as his eyes slowly travel from Loki’s face to the pitcher, and back again. Loki’s smirk fades, his heart skipping a beat at the rapidly darkening expression on Thor’s face. He honestly has no idea what thoughts and conclusions have been forming inside Thor’s drunken mind, but he starts to realize, with a rapidly rising dread, that this situation has gone completely out of his control. If it ever actually were under his control.

Loki does not see Thor move. A wondrous feat indeed, considering his state and his position, but between two heartbeats, Loki finds himself pressed between the bed and his brother’s body, with Thor straddling his hips, his fingers leaving bruises on Loki’s biceps.

“It was _him_.” Thor growls, and up this close Loki can feel the words on his face and smell the sweet, heady scent of wine on Thor’s breath. “That wretched elf. He gave you the wine.”

Loki blinks, completely taken aback by Thor’s sudden violent behavior so it takes him a moment for Thor’s words to sink in. A distant part of Loki’s mind is aware of the precarious position they are in, their groins too close, separated only by the thin material of their respective breeches. He is also aware how startled confusion is not the appropriate reaction to Thor’s outburst, but he cannot seem to muster enough presence of mind for agitation or anger. “ _Vidar_? What makes you think-”

“Have you taken him as your lover?” Thor snarls, the grip he has on Loki turning painful. Loki’s eyes widen, the fury in Thor’s eyes a truly frightening sight up this close. “Is that why he has gifted you with such a rare gift?”

A burst of fury inside him is so sudden and potent, it swells in his throat, trapping the words inside Loki’s mouth. Thor gives Loki only a moment before shaking him as if Loki is a nothing more than a petulant child in need of chastising, the fury in his eyes a blazing inferno. “Have you? Have you given yourself to him?” He demands, his voice dangerously low. “ _Tell me!_ ”

Loki cannot remember when was the last time he had been as angry as he is now, furious enough to be rendered speechless. Not even on Vanaheim when Thor had first accused him of the same transgression, if it could be considered as such. Not even when he spat insults to Loki’s face after his duel with Vidar. Lifting his hands, he manages to worm their way between their bodies, readying himself to push Thor back, either by magic of raw strength alone, his mouth opening on a torrent of insults, but what actually comes out is a cry. Furious and hurt alike. “ _No, I have not!_ ”

They both freeze, the echo of Loki’s voice still ringing loudly in the sudden, heavy silence. Thor’s eyes widen in wonder, fury giving way to elation, and something fiercely, dangerously possessive. His grip on Loki lessens, but only fractionally. “ _Loki_.” Thor exhales, the relief almost palpable in his voice. Slowly, his right hand moves, a gentle, almost tentative slide up Loki’s shoulder and neck, curling possessively around the back of Loki’s neck. His face softens into an expression of immense tenderness and love, his fingers warm, insistent presence against the skin of Loki’s neck. “Loki.” He repeats, his voice hoarse and heavy with so many forbidden emotions, his thumb starting to trace small circles on the skin of Loki’s neck.

Loki’s entire body shudders, and it becomes a struggle to think, to draw breath, his entire existence narrowing down to the sight of Thor’s lips so close to his own, and getting even closer, as Thor slowly dips his head low, lower, and, at the same time, pulling Loki’s face to the side, never breaking eye contact with Loki. In the end, it is the almost impossible gentleness of Thor’s touch, so glaringly different from his violent outburst, and the slow advance which completely defies Thor’s impulsive and impatient nature, especially in the state he is in, that shatter something inside Loki.

Loki wants this. He positively aches for Thor to close the remaining distance between their mouths. The realization comes as violent and disastrous as one of Thor’s lightning strikes, and the truly frightening depth of his own foolish and dangerous desire is what brings Loki back to his senses.

Thor’s eyes flutter closed, his mouth all but touching Loki’s, when Loki’s hand moves with lightning speed, his thumb and index finger blazing green as they come in contact with Thor’s face. “Sleep.” Loki commands. Thor’s eyes snap open in an expression of shock before falling closed again, the entire weight of Thor’s, now slack, body crashing against Loki.

Loki does not move at first, merely stays still, even with Thor’s impressive bulk crushing him against the bed. There is a sound building in the back of his throat, and Loki almost chokes on it before it spills from his lips – a broken sound which is neither a sob, neither a chuckle, but something entirely different. A low, agonized sound of a man lying in the ruins of his entire life.

Lost again. To Thor. Even if Thor thought their game to be entirely different, even if Loki had cheated, the outcome, as always, is the same. He had lost, and this time, this damned time, he had lost more than he had been aware he _could_ lose – himself.

The unfairness – the sheer irony – of the situation he is now, makes him want to howl in rage at the sky. And it also makes him want to curl into a ball and weep as if he were nothing but a small child. Loki does neither. His hands move, seemingly of their volition, coming to rest on Thor’s back, just under his shoulder blades. Not caressing, not trying to push Thor’s sleeping form away, only resting there as his eyes fall shut.

Loki knows he should move, leave Thor’s chambers, sort his thoughts, and decide what to do next. And he will, but not right now. Now, Loki has no desire, nor strength, to move. If he does move, the pleasant numbness that has settled inside his very soul will shatter, and he will have to face the truth of the sickness he carries inside his blood, inside his traitorous heart.

Now, he can pretend. Pretend that this had been nothing but a night of companionship among brothers. Perhaps even pretend that he had finally drunk Thor under the table. Pretend that, come tomorrow, he will have his elder brother sulking and annoyed as Loki teased him mercilessly about his shameful stamina. But then Thor shifts in his sleep, a small, contended sigh escaping his lips, and Loki can feel the warmth of it against his neck, as acutely as he can feel Thor’s hardness pressed against his own shameful response to it.

And, just like that, the illusion shatters, and Loki’s eyes snap open. _Leave, run now…_ no, _stay and wake him and have him, let him have_ you… it is as if a dam broke inside Loki’s mind, and now it is crumbling into nothingness under the torrent of feverish, forbidden and dangerous thoughts which can lead only to ruin, his fingers twitching with barely restrained need to expose and touch every inch of Thor’s body. 

Loki clenches his teeth together, ignoring the frantic demands of his mind and body alike, and pushes Thor to the side, extracting himself under Thor’s solid weight. Once free, Loki almost doubles over, his chest rising and falling with harsh pants. Swallowing a curse, he presses the heel of his right hand against his forehead, squeezing his eyes shut. But the thoughts remain, frantic and insistent inside his head, his body a trembling mess of desperate yearning and lust.

A thought occurs to him, freezing the blood in his veins and stilling his heartbeat for one horrifying moment. _Heimdall_. The Guardian and his accursed Sight. Loki doubts that Heimdall abuses his gift by spying on the royal family, but he knows how fond he is of Thor. Almost as much as he is distrustful of Loki. Even the smallest chance of Heimdall’s gaze turning to Thor’s room, is too great a risk.

Loki resists the urge to shadow them from Heimdall’s eyes, aware that nothing untoward has actually happened. The thought causes a small burst of near hysterical laughter to leave Loki’s throat.

 _Nothing has happened?_ Every certainty he has ever had about himself and his future has been shattered into broken, useless pieces, but nothing. Has happened.

Taking a deep, calming breath, Loki finally pushes himself to his feet, clenching his hands into fists at his momentary hesitation in turning toward his sleeping brother, suddenly realizing just how Thor must have been feeling since their return from Vanaheim. Wanting to be near, but dreading it. Every innocent, casual touch or word suddenly meaning so much more.

But he will not be as weak as Thor. In this shared madness at least, he will be the stronger one. After all, he has been honing lies and illusions into weapons almost as long as he can remember. And this… _insanity_ cannot last forever, he will not allow it to persist. He will cure himself of this sickness before it destroys him.

Thor looks… peaceful. The strong, hard lines of his face softened by sleep, his lips slightly parted as his chest rise and fall in even breaths. Loki eyes him one log moment, grimacing. He cannot leave him like this – lying braced against the side of his bead, his head resting in an awkward angle which will undoubtedly cause Thor to wake with a stiff neck, along with headache, and, possibly, nausea.

For a second, Loki is sorely tempted to leave him like this, but Thor – no matter how much Loki wants to place the blame for the insanity of their mutual feelings on Thor – is as much a victim in this as Loki is.

Sighing, he wraps his arms around Thor’s waist, which makes Thor to mumble something unintelligible and wrap his arms in return around Loki’s waist as he shifts closer to Loki, his head coming to rest against the crook of Loki’s neck.

“Norn’s sake, Thor.” Loki grumbles, annoyed. A part of him is relieved he can still get this much annoyed with Thor. That he can touch him without desire or lust. It means his madness has not tainted all his feelings for his brother. There is a way to go back. “You are a menace even when asleep.”

He is hardly what anyone could call weak, but maneuvering Thor’s relaxed body takes some effort. Especially since Thor insist on cuddling. Finally managing to pull Thor up, Loki deposits him in an ungraceful heap on his bed. Thankfully, Thor’s grip on him is loose enough so Loki manages not to fall along with Thor, and it takes him only a token effort to peel Thor’s hands away from his waist. Choosing magic over actual touch this time, Loki vanishes Thor’s boots, more than a little relived that Thor is dressed only in light tunic and breaches so he does not need to bother with undressing him. By magic or otherwise.

Turning, he picks up the discarded goblets and the pitcher from the ground, probably overturned when Thor grabbed him. There is also a large red stain on the rug which Loki disappears with a flick of his wrist. Placing the goblets and the pitcher on the tray, Loki waves them away. Just in case. It is never prudent to leave evidence, even if the crime had not been committed. Even if his plan backfired in the worst possible way.

Fixing his clothes, Loki turns to leave. There is nothing for him here. Only temptation and loss. He should not linger, not when he needs both time and space away from Thor to gather the scattered treads of his self-control. He _knows_ this. Knows it with the same certainty with which he knows what would be the price of giving into his desire. He takes only one step toward the door before he stops in his tracks, his eyes squeezing shut as a frustrated growl escapes his lips.

He truly _is_ pathetic.

Turning slowly, Loki opens his eyes, stealing a parting glance of Thor’s sleeping form. A small, almost wistful smile twitches his lips upwards at how Thor has taken up almost entire surface of his, by no account small, bed – his arms spread wide, one of his legs bowed at the knee. Even asleep, his brother demands so much space, always striving for more. As Loki watches, Thor shifts and his head rolls to the side, while a sigh, sounding very similar to Loki’s name, escapes his lips.

Loki feels like he has been hit, his chest painfully tight, as he slowly starts to understand that lust – no matter how wrong and forbidden – might not be be his undoing. Wanting to have Thor’s hands and lips all over his naked skin, and wanting to do same to Thor is but a little nuisance compared to the almost overwhelming need to simply curl around Thor’s sleeping form, brush that stray lock of hair from Thor’s face and rest his head against the crook of Thor’s neck. And fall sleep with his hands around his brother. Nothing more, just close his eyes and drift into slumber.

His entire being lights up with fury, frustration and disgust at his own ridiculous desire. It is nothing but foolish, pathetic sentimentality. A weakness masked as an overly romantic notion of…

… _love_.

Swallowing against the bile gathered in his throat, Loki forces out a shaky breath, as a cold, leaden weight of dread settles in the pit of his stomach. “ _Fool_.” He whispers brokenly, and he is not sure whom is he referring to.

Himself, or Thor.


End file.
